AND DTHHR 
STORIES 


BY 

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LYESKOV 









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THE SENTRY AND OTHER 

STORIES 








NICOLAI SEMYONOVITCH LYESKOV 












































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THE SENTRY 

AND OTHER STORIES 

BY NICOLAI LYESKOV 

TRANSLATED BY A. E. CHAMOT 
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
EDWARD GARNETT :: :: •• 




NEW YORK: ALFRED A. KNOPF 

1923 







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MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 
BY THE DEVONSHIRE PRESS, TORQUAY 


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INTRODUCTION 


At first sight it seems a little curious that this 
volume The Sentry ” should be the first trans¬ 
lation from Lyeskov to appear in English. But 
one must recognize that even such a master as 
Aksakov (1791-1851) was only introduced to our 
public a few years back, and that it is really a 
matter of luck whether any but Russian authors 
of great celebrity get Englished at all. And 
Lyeskov, born 1831, a most original talent, more¬ 
over, flourished in the shade of unpopularity in 
his own country. Unfortunately for his fame 
Lyeskov sharply attacked the Nihilists of the 
sixties and seventies in two novels, Nowhere to 
Go ” and At Daggers Drawn.” And in retalia¬ 
tion he was cold-shouldered and sent to Coventry 
by indignant Young Russia, liberal or revolution¬ 
ary. Thus after- the publication of '' Nowhere to 
Go,” we find Pissarev wondering “ if a single 
magazine will dare to print any other work by 
the same author, for to do so would mean the 
magazine losing its good name for ever.” Lyeskov’s 
name remained long under a cloud, and though 






The Sentry 


• • • 

Vlll 

both Tolstoy and Tchehov commended his work 
it is only in recent years that it has been judged 
dispassionately by Russian critics. The critic, 
M. J. Olgin, in his interesting comments on 
Lyeskov,* quotes a typical attack, character¬ 
istically Russian in its parti pris^ by A. T. 
Bogdanovitch :— 

‘‘ A writer endowed with talent and observing power yet 
without a God in his soul. A cynic by constitution and a 
libertine by temperament, Lyeskov is a hypocrite screening 
himself with lofty words in the sanctity of which he does 
not believe,” etc. 

But fifteen years later this verdict is reversed 
by N. O. Lerner, who writes :— 

“ Lyeskov remains ‘ unplaced ’ in the history of Russian 
thought and Russian literature. The one thing that is definite 
and tangible about him is a bright and refined artistic feeling 
for life, and a pity for man. The title of one of his stories 
‘ Vexation of Mind ’ may be used as a motto for all his creative 
work. All Lyeskov is in these words. His mind was vexed 
by a longing for truth and he knew how to stir souls, to arouse 
in them good feelings, and to lead them on the road to self- 
analysis and self-contemplation at the end of which all problems 
are solved.” 

Sementkovsky, Lyeskov’s biographer, from whom 
we condense the information given below, makes 
it clear that it was Lyeskov’s honesty and in¬ 
dependence of mind that caused his work to be 

*A Guide to Russian Literature. Cape, 1921. 







Introdtiction 


IX 


denounced first by the Left and then by the Right 1 
But let us hear Sementkovsky on Lyeskov’s 
upbringing and outlook :— 

“ Nikolay Semyonovitch Lyeskov was born in 1831 in 
the province of Orel on his father’s estate, where he spent 
his childhood and early youth. From ten to sixteen he was 
at school at Orel, but soon afterwards the Lyeskov family 
lost all their property, the father died of cholera, and at the 
age of eighteen Lyeskov had to take a job in Kiev, first in a 
government office, then as an agent of an Englishman, a 
certain Mr. Scott, who managed the enormous estates of the 
Counts Perovsky, and did a great deal to improve the con¬ 
ditions of the peasants. His work for Scott gave Lyeskov 
exceptional opportunities for studying Russian life ; for ten 
years he travelled from one province to another and came 
into contact with ‘ all sorts and conditions of men.’ As a 
young man he had no idea of becoming a writer, and the idea 
that he might write first occurred to him because the Scott 
family used to admire enormously the long letters he sent them 
and to read them to friends as if they were stories, and some 
of these friends encouraged him to write for publication. 
But the first things that Lyeskov wrote were wholly devoted 
to social and political questions, chiefly to matters affecting 
the welfare of the peasants. About i860 Lyeskov came to 
Petersburg and lived there, for the most part, till his death 
in 1896. 

“ Lyeskov’s parents were ordinary, well meaning people, 
fairly cultured (the father was a government official ; the 
mother belonged to a noble family) and although he was a 
good son they had very little influence on him. The people 
who helped most to shape his character and convictions were 
his grandmother and his aunt—both of them very fine women 
—and the priest who gave him his first lessons in religion. 







X 


The Sentry 


Both women were very religious, but the grandmother was 
firmly Orthodox and used to take little Lyeskov to holy places 
and monasteries, while the aunt was a Quaker, and it is interest¬ 
ing that throughout his life Lyeskov had equal sympathy with, 
and appreciation of, the mysticism and ritualism of the Church 
and the rationalistic faith of Evangelical Christians. The 
grandmother and the aunt were equally ready to help their 
neighbours and were always engaged in wmrks of practical 
charity, and that, too, left a profound impression on Lyeskov, 
who held that practical love for others was the chief 
qualification of a good man. Lyeskov’s religious feeling 
and his belief in the importance of Christian charity brought 
him very near Tolstoy, and at one time he took part in 
Tolstoy’s publications for the peasants (‘ The Posrednix ’), 
writing several beautiful legends of the early Christian times, 
the moral of the stories always being that the work most 
pleasing to God is to help our fellow men. But he differed 
from Tolstoy in this, that Lyeskov never idealised the prim¬ 
itive conditions of life, and so far from rejecting art, science, 
political institutions, etc., he thought that the way to make 
human life—especially Russian life—better, was to become 
more and not less civilised. Lyeskov attached great im¬ 
portance to all the practical measures that tended to make the 
peasants better educated, healthier, less inclined to get drunk, 
etc., and he enthusiastically welcomed the reforms of 
Alexander 11 . ; but the exceptional opportunities he had had 
of studying Russian life at first hand convinced him that 
what matters most are not good laws or institutions in them¬ 
selves, but the people who carry them out—and the people 
whom he met in Petersburg in the ‘ sixties ’ and who were 
going to make the ‘ new ’ Russia, disappointed him by their 
lack of practical sense and of knowledge of the real conditions 
of life. His first ground for quarrel with the ‘ Nihilists ’ was 
the abstract character of their theories—they seemed to him 









Introduction xi 

to be out of contact with the real Russian life ; and later on 
he found, too, that the ‘ advanced ’ theories attract a particu¬ 
larly objectionable type of people. 

“ Lyeskov’s practical sense, independence of judgment and 
critical intelligence never allowed him to belong to any party. 
He could not accept any creed en bloc, and the result was that 
he was regarded with equal distrust both by the Left and the 
Right. The beginning of his unpopularity with the Left 
was, however, due to a misunderstanding . . . But eight 
years later the publication of his novel, ‘ Nowhere to Go ’ 
raised a storm of abuse against him . . . and Lyeskov was 
called a spy, an agent of the government, etc. But Lyeskov 
was not intimidated by this, nor embittered, and at the end of 
his life he met with exactly the same fate at the hands of the 
Conservatives. He held two posts, one in the Ministry of 
Public Instruction, and another in the Department of Crown 
Property, both of which he had to give up because he was too 
free and independent in his judgments. It was a hard thing 
for him to do because he had no means of livelihood except 
literature, which did not pay very well, but he never hesitated 
to sacrifice worldly advantage to his conscience. It was his 
stories dealing with Church subjects that made him powerful 
enemies, ‘ The Cathedral Folk,’ ‘ The Stamped Angel,’ ‘ On 
the Edge of the World,’ etc. He was declared to be ‘ a secret, 
cunning and insinuating Nihilist’.” 

I confess that Lyeskov’s fate at the hands of 
both the Parties and all the pure-souled Defenders 
of the rival political faiths, greatly delights one’s 
sense of irony. For truth is infinite, and hued 
like a chameleon. Always behind one truth lurks 
another, and another, and then another comple- 
'mentary truth, often surprisingly disconcerting 







ft 


xii The Sentry 

to the spirit of the partizan. This is not to say that 
Lyeskov was not also prejudiced ” by his ex¬ 
periences. No doubt he generalized over freely 
about the Nihilists from the specimens he himself 
had encountered. Again it is declared that in 
both At Daggers Drawn ” and The Cathedral 
Folk,” Lyeskov unfairly exaggerated the traits 
of his unscrupulous characters, but who shall say 
if this were so, in the light of recent Russian 
history ? An artist may divine elements in the 
life before his eyes, which only fully declare them¬ 
selves at a later stage. Thus in The Possessed ” 
Dostoevsky divined the existence of monstrous 
personalities which more than a generation later 
emerged in full light in the hideous figure of AzeVj. 
And since Azev ! 

Anyway, in the stories here translated one does 
not encounter the spirit of the partizan. ‘‘ The 
Sentry ” is an excellent objective study of military 
manners under Tzar Nicholas I., and it reflects in 
a luminous glass the cast iron rigidity of the code 
dispensed by the martinets under the Autocrat’s 
frown. Another and a blacker illustration of the 
abuse of despotic power to which the Russian seems 
specially prone, is seen in The Toupee Artist,” 
with its picture, admirable for its" atmospheric 
veracity and dramatic strength, of the paternal 
rule ” of the Counts Kamensky in Orel. In “ The 








Introduction 


• • • 

Xlll 

Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District,” a fine 
example of searching sincerity, one is struck again 
by the impartial objectivity of the narrative. 
Lyeskov’s qualities and his limitations are here 
broadly outlined. We have only to compare 
the portrait of Sergei with that of Naum 
in Turgenev’s story The Inn ” to see how 
the great master surpasses the lesser in the 
expression of those delicate shades of feeling and 
manner in which the secret of personality, no 
less than the charm of style, resides. Apart from 
this, however, The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk 
District ” is a splendid example of psychological 
truth and breadth of vision, qualities in which the 
Russians always beat us hollow. Equally broad 
in its humanity is the last story On the Edge of 
the World.” Although the opening is too leisurely 
and some of the details are superfluous, how un¬ 
forgettable is this picture of the worthy Russian 
bishop and his perplexities in his half-savage 
Siberian diocese. We are really, here, taken into 
the heart of ecclesiastical rule, with its unavailing 
struggle to reconcile the spirit of Christ’s teaching 
with actual Christian practice. Good Father 
Kiriak’s touchstone of conduct is simplicity itself. 

Can I do this for the glory of Christ ? ” What 
a disconcerting test for Christendom which has 
drenched the little Dove with blood.” The 







xiv The Sentry 

manner in which the Bishop is floored by the 
arguments and by the devotion of his heathen 
driver, is conclusive. The poor Bishop, at the 
close of the story, is almost as confused in mind 
as the Christianized savage, who ate the Holy 
Elements, the chrism, the sponge, carried off the 
pyx, and left Father Kiriak to freeze to death ! 
But the Bishop at least is honest with us and frank 
with himself. He possessed that gift of the Russian 
nature—intellectual sincerity. 

Edward Garnett. 


May^ 1922. 





CONTENTS 

/ 

PAGE 

The Sentry ..... 3 

The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk 

District .... 49 

The Toupee Artist . . . 141 

On the Edge of the World . . 191 






THE SENTRY 
1839 


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T he events of the story which is now pre¬ 
sented to the reader are so touching 
and terrible in their importance for the 
chief and heroic actor who took part in them, and 
the issue of the affair was so unique, that anything 
similar could scarcely have occurred in another 
country than Russia. 

It forms in part a court anecdote, in part a 
historic event that characterizes fairly well the 
manners and the very strange tendencies of the 
uneventful period comprised in the third decade 
of this nineteenth century. 

There is no invention in the following story. 

3 





























II 

D uring the winter of 1839, just before 
the Festival of the Epiphany, there was 
a great thaw in Petersburg. The weather 
was so warm, that it was almost like spring: the 
snow melted during the day, water dripped from 
the roofs, the ice on the rivers became blue, and 
open water appeared in many places. On the Neva, 
just in front of the Winter Palace, there was a 
large open space. A warm but very high wind 
blew from the west, the water was driven in from 
the gulf, and the signal guns were fired. 

The guard at the Palace at that time was a 
company of the Ismailovsky regiment, com¬ 
manded by a very brilliant well educated officer 
named Nikolai Ivanovich Miller, a young man of the 
very best society (who subsequently rose to the 
rank of general and became the director of the 
Lycium). He was a man of the so-called humane 
tendencies,” which had long since been noticed 
in him, and somewhat impaired his chances in the 
service, in the eyes of his superiors. 

Miller was really an exact and trustworthy 

4 





The Sentry 5 

officer ; the duty of the guard at the Palace was 
without any danger; the time was most un¬ 
eventful and tranquil; the Palace sentries were 
only required to stand accurately at their posts. 
Nevertheless, just when Captain Miller was in 
command, a most extraordinary and very alarming 
event took place, which is probably scarcely re¬ 
membered even by the few of his contemporaries 
who are now ending their days upon earth. 








Ill 


A T first everything went well with the guard. 
The sentries were placed, the men were 
all at their posts and all was in the most 
perfect order. The Emperor Nikolai Pavlovich 
was well, he had been for a drive in the evening 
returned home, and had gone to bed. The Palace 
slept, too. The night was most quiet. There was 
tranquillity in the guard-room. Captain Miller 
had pinned his white pocket handkerchief to the 
back of the officer’s chair, with its traditionally 
greasy morocco high back and had settled down 
to while away the time by reading. 

Captain Miller had always been a passionate 
reader, and therefore was never dull; he read 
and did not notice how the night passed away. 
When suddenly at about three o’clock he was 
alarmed by a terrible anxiety. The sergeant on 
duty, pale and trembling with fear, stood before 
him, and stammered hurriedly : 

A calamity, your honour, a calamity ! ” 

‘‘ What has happened ? ” 

‘‘ A terrible misfortune has occurred.” 

6 






The Sentry 7 

Captain Miller jumped up in indescribable agita¬ 
tion and with difficulty was able to ascertain what 
really was the nature of the “ calamity ” and the 
terrible misfortune.” 






IV 


T he case was as follows : the sentry, a 
private of the Ismailovsky regiment 
named Postnikov, who was standing on 
guard at the outer door of the Palace, now called 
the Jordan ” entrance heard that a man was 
drowning in the open spaces which had appeared 
in the ice just opposite the Palace, and was calling 
for help in his despair. 

Private Postnikov, a domestic serf of some great 
family, was a very nervous and sensitive man. 
For a long time he listened to the distant cries 
and groans of the drowning man, and they seemed 
to benumb him with horror. He looked on all 
sides, but on the whole visible expanse of the quays 
and the Neva, as if on purpose, not a living soul 
could he see. 

There was nobody who could give help to the 
drowning man, and he was sure to sink . . . 

All this time the man struggled long and terribly. 
It seemed as if there was but one thing left 
for him—to sink to the bottom without further 
struggle, but no ! His cries of exhaustion were 

8 






9 


The Sentry 

now broken and ceased, then were heard again, 
always nearer and nearer to the Palace quay. It 
was evident that the man had not lost his direction, 
but was making straight for the lights of the street 
lamps, but doubtless he would perish because 
just in his path, he would fall into the Jordan ” 
(a hole made in the ice of the river for the con¬ 
secration of the water on the 6th of January.) 
There he would be drawn under the ice and it 
would be the end. Again he was quiet, but a 
minute later he began to splash through the water, 
and moan : ‘‘ Save me, save me ! ” He was now 
so near that the splashing of the water could 
actually be heard as he waded along. 

Private Postnikov began to realize that it would 
be quite easy to save this man. It was only 
necessary to run on to the ice, as the drowning 
man was sure to be there, throw him a rope, 
or stretch a pole or a gun towards him, and he 
would be saved. He was so near that he could 
take hold of it with his hand and save himself. 
But Postnikov remembered his service and his 
oath ; he knew he was the sentry, and that the 
sentry dare not leave his sentry-box on any pretext 
or for any reason whatever. 

On the other hand, Postnikov’s heart was not 
at all submissive ; it gnawed, it throbbed, it sank. 
He would have been glad to tear it out and throw 








10 


The Sentry 

it at his feet—he had become so uneasy at the 
sound of these groans and sobs. It was terrible 
to hear another man perishing and not to stretch 
out a hand to save him, when really it was quite 
possible to do so, because the sentry-box would 
not run away, and no other harm could happen. 
‘‘ Shall I run down ? Will anybody see it ? 
Oh, Lord, if it could only end ! He’s groaning 
again ! ” 

For a whole half hour, while this was going on. 
Private Postnikov’s heart tormented him so much 
that he began to feel doubts of his own reason. 
He was a clever and conscientious soldier with a 
clear judgment, and he knew perfectly well, that 
for a sentry to leave his post was a crime that would 
have to be tried by court-martial, and he would 
afterwards have to run the gauntlet between two 
lines of cat-o’-nine-tails and then have penal 
servitude, or perhaps even be shot—but from the 
direction of the swollen river again there rose, 
always nearer and nearer, groans, mumblings and 
desperate struggles. 

‘‘ I am drowning ! Save me, I am drowning ! ” 

Soon he would come to the Jordan cutting 
and then—the end. 

Postnikov looked round once or twice on all 
sides. Not a soul was to be seen, only the lamps 
rattled, shook and flickered in the wind, and on 







The Sentry ii 

the wind were borne broken cries, perhaps the 
last cries .... 

There was another splash, a single sob and a 
gurgling in the w^ater. 

The sentry could bear it no longer, and left 
his post. 






V 

P OSTNIKOV rushed to the steps, with his 
heart beating violently, ran on to the ice, 
then into the water that had risen above it. 
He soon saw where the drowning man was 
struggling for life and held out the stock of his 
gun to him. The drowning man caught hold 
of the butt-end and Postnikov holding on to the 
bayonet drew him to the bank. 

Both the man who had been saved, and his 
rescuer were completely wet ; the man who had 
been saved was in a state of great exhaustion, 
shivered and fell; his rescuer Private Postnikov 
could not make up his mind to abandon him on 
the ice, but led him to the quay, and began looking 
about for somebody to whom he could confide 
him. While all this was happening, a sledge in 
which an officer was sitting had appeared on the 
quay. He was an officer of the Palace Invalid 
corps, a company which existed then, but has 
since been abolished. 

This gentleman who arrived at such an in¬ 
opportune moment for Postnikov was evidently 

12 






The Sentry 


13 


a man of a very heedless character, and besides 
a very muddled-headed and impudent person. 
He jumped out of his sledge and inquired : 

‘‘ What man is this ? Who are these people ? ” 
He was nearly drowned—he was sinking,” 
began Postnikov. 

How was he drowning ? Who was drowning ? 
Was it you ? Why is he here ? ” 

But he only spluttered and panted, and Post¬ 
nikov was no longer there ; he had shouldered 
his gun and had gone back to his sentry-box. 

Possibly the officer understood what had hap¬ 
pened, for he made no further inquiries, but at 
once took the man who had been rescued into his 
sledge and drove with him to the Admiralty Police 
station in the Morskaia Street. 

Here the officer made a statement to the in¬ 
spector, that the dripping man he had brought 
had nearly been drowned in one of the holes in 
the ice in front of the Palace, and that he, the 
officer, had saved him at the risk of his own life. 

The man who had been saved was still quite 
wet, shivering and exhausted. From fright and 
owing to his terrible efforts he fell into a sort of 
unconsciousness, and it was quite indifferent to 
him who had saved him. 

The sleepy police orderly bustled around him, 
while in the office a statement was drawn up from 





14 The Sentry 

the officer’s verbal deposition and, with the sus¬ 
picion natural to members of the police, they were 
perplexed to understand how he had managed to 
come out of the water quite dry. The officer 
who was anxious to receive the life saving medal 
tried to explain this happy concurrence of cir¬ 
cumstances, but his explanation was incoherent 
and improbable. They went to wake the police 
inspector, and sent to make inquiries. 

Meantime in the Palace this occurrence was 
the cause of another rapid series of events. 





VI 

I N the Palace guard-room all that had occurred 
since the officer took the half drowned man 
into his sledge was unknown. There the 
Ismailovsky officer and the soldiers only knew 
that Postnikov, a private of their regiment, had 
left his sentry-box, and had hurried to save a man 
and, this being a great breach of military duty. 
Private Postnikov would certainly be tried by 
court-martial and have to undergo a thrashing, 
and all his superior officers, beginning from the 
commander of the company, would have to face 
terrible unpleasantness, to avert which they would 
have nothing to say, nor would they be able to 
defend themselves. 

The wet and shivering soldier Postnikov, was of 
course at once relieved from his post, and when 
he was brought to the guard-room frankly related 
to Captain Miller all that we already know, with 
all the details to the moment when the officer of 
the Invalid Corps put the half drowned man into 
his sledge, and ordered the coachman to drive 
to the Admiralty police station. 

15 






16 The Sentry 

The danger grew greater and more unavoidable. 
It was certain the officer of the Invalid Corps 
would relate everything to the police inspector 
and the inspector would at once state all the facts 
to the chief of police, Kokoshkin, who in the 
morning would make his report to the Emperor, 
and then the trouble would begin. 

There was no time for reflection ; the advice 
of the superior officer must be obtained. 

Nikolai Ivanovich Miller forthwith sent an 
alarming note to his immediate superior, the com¬ 
mander of his battalion, Lieutenant-Colonel Svinin, 
in which he begged him to come to the guard room 
as soon as he could to take every possible measure 
to help him out of the terrible misfortune that 
had occurred. 

It was already about three o’clock, and Kokosh¬ 
kin had to present his report to the Emperor 
fairly early in the morning, so that but little time 
remained for reflection and action. 





VII 

L ieutenant-colonel Svinin did not 

possess that compassion and tenderness 
of heart for which Nikolai Ivanovich 
Miller had always been distinguished. Svinin 
was not a heartless man, but first and fore¬ 
most a martinet (a type that is now remembered 
with regret) Svinin was known for his severity 
and he even liked to boast of his exacting dis¬ 
cipline. He had no taste for evil, and never 
tried to cause anybody useless suffering, but when a 
man had violated any of the duties of the service, 
Svinin was inexorable. In the present case he 
considered it out of place to enter into the con¬ 
sideration of the causes, that had guided the actions 
of the culprit, and held to the rule that every 
deviation from discipline was guilt. Therefore, 
in the company on guard all knew that Private 
Postnikov would have to suffer, what he deserved, 
for having left his post, and that Svinin would 
remain absolutely indifferent. 

Such was the character by which the staff officer 
was known to his superiors, and also to his com- 

17 





18 The Sentry 

rades, amongst whom there were men who did 
not sympathize with Svinin, because at that time 
humaneness,’’ and other similar delusions, had 
not entirely died out. Svinin was indifferent 
to whether he would be blamed or praised by the 
humanitarians.” To beg or entreat Svinin, or 
even to try to move him to pity was quite useless. 
To all this he was hardened with the well-tempered 
armour of the people of those times, who wanted 
to make their way in the world but even he, like 
Achilles, had a weak spot. 

Svinin’s career in the service had commenced 
well, and he of course greatly valued it and was 
very careful that on it, as on a full dress uniform, 
not a grain of dust should settle, and now this 
unfortunate action of one of the men of the battalion 
entrusted to him would certainly throw a shadow 
on the discipline of the whole company. Those 
on whom Svinin’s well started and carefully main¬ 
tained military career depended would not stop 
to inquire if the commander of the battalion was 
guilty or not guilty of what one of his men had 
done, while moved by the most honourable feelings 
of sympathy, and many would gladly have put a 
spoke in his wheel, so as to make way for their 
relations or to push forward some fine young fellow 
with high patronage. If the Emperor, who would 
certainly be angry, said to the commander of the 






The Sentry 


19 


regiment that he had feeble officers, that their men 
were undisciplined : who was the cause of it ? 
Svinin. So it would be repeated that Svinin was 
feeble, and the reproach of feebleness would 
remain a stain on his reputation that could not be 
washed out. ' Then he would never be in any way 
remarkable among his contemporaries, and he 
would not leave his portrait in the gallery of 
historical personages of the Russian Empire. 

Although at that time but few cultivated the 
study of history, nevertheless they believed in 
it, and aspired, with special pleasure, to take 
part in its making. 










VIII 

AT about three o’clock in the morning, as 
soon as Svinin received Captain Miller’s 
^ ^ disquieting letter, he at once jumped out 
of bed, put on his uniform, and swayed by fear and 
anger arrived at the guard-room of the Winter 
Palace, Here he forthwith examined Private 
Postnikov, and assured himself that the extraordin¬ 
ary event had really taken place. Private Postnikov 
again frankly confirmed to the commander of his 
battalion all that had occurred while he was on 
guard duty, and what he (Postnikov) had already 
related to the commander of his company. Captain 
Miller. The soldier said, that he was guilty before 
God and the Emperor, and could not expect mercy ; 
that he, standing on guard, hearing the groans of a 
man, who was drowning in the open places of the 
ice, had suffered long, had struggled long between 
his sense of military duty and his feelings of com¬ 
passion, and at last he had yielded to temptation 
and not being able to stand the struggle, had left 
his sentry-box, jumped on the ice and had drawn 
the drowning man to the bank, and there to his 


20 










The Sentry 21 

misfortune he met an officer of the Palace Invalid 
Corps. 

Lieutenant-Colonel Svinin was in despair; he 
gave himself the only possible satisfaction by 
wreaking his anger on Postnikov, whom he at once 
sent under arrest to the regimental prison, and then 
said some biting words to Miller, reproaching him 
with humanitarianism,” which was of no use at 
all in military service ; but all this was of no avail, 
nor would it improve the matter. It was impossible 
to find any excuse, still less justification, for a sentry 
who had left his post, and there remained only one 
way of getting out of the difficulty—to conceal the 
whole affair from the Emperor. . . . 

But was it possible to conceal such an occur¬ 
rence ? 

It was evident that this appeared to be impossible, 
as the rescue of the drowning man was known, not 
only to the whole of the guard, but also to that 
hateful officer of the Invalid Corps, who by now 
had certainly had time to report the whole matter 
to General Kokoshkin. 

Which way was he to turn ? To whom could 
he address himself ? From whom could he obtain 
help and protection ? 

Svinin wanted to gallop off to the Grand Duke 
Michael Pavlovich and relate to him, quite frankly, 
all that had happened. Manoeuvres of this nature 







22 The Sentry 

were then customary. The Grand Duke, who had 
a hot temper, would be angry and storm, but his 
humour and habits were such, that the greater 
the harshness he showed at first, even when he 
grievously insulted the offender, the sooner he would 
forgive him and himself take up his defence. 
Similar cases were not infrequent, and they were 
even sometimes sought after. Words do not hurt ; 
and Svinin was very anxious to bring the matter to a 
favourable conclusion ; but was it possible at night 
to obtain entrance to the palace and disturb the 
Grand Duke ? To wait for morning and appear 
before Michael Pavlovich, after Kokoshkin had 
made his report to the Emperor, would be too late. 

While Svinin was agitated by these difficulties 
he became more subtle, and his mind began to 
see another issue, which till then had been hidden 
as in a mist. 






IX 


AMONG other well-known military tactics 
there is the following : at the moment 
^ ^ when the greatest danger is threatened 
from the walls of a beleagured fortress, not to 
retire, but to advance straight under its walls. 
Svinin decided not to do any of the things that had 
at first occurred to him, but to go straight to 
Kokoshkin. 

Many terrible things were related at that time in 
Petersburg about the chief of police Kokoshkin, 
and many absurd things too, but among others 
it was affirmed that he possessed such wonderful 
resource and tact, that with the assistance of this 
tact he was not only able to make a mountain out 
of a molehill but that he was able as easily to 
make a molehill out of a mountain. 

Kokoshkin was really very stern and very 
terrible, and inspired great fear in all who came in 
contact with him, but he sometimes showed mercy 
to the gay young scamps among the officers, and 
such young scamps were not few in those days, and 
thev had often found in him a merciful and zealous 





24 The Sentry 

protector. In a word, he was able to do much, 
and knew how to do it, if he only chose. Both 
Svinin and Captain Miller knew this side of his 
character. Miller therefore encouraged his superior 
officer to risk going to Kokoshkin, and trust to 
the general’s magnanimity and resource and tact, 
which would probably suggest to him the means of 
getting out of this unpleasant situation, without 
incurring the anger of the Emperor, which Kokosh¬ 
kin, to his honour be it said, always made great 
efforts to avoid. 

Svinin put on his overcoat, looked up to heaven, 
murmured several times, Good Lord ! Good 
Lord ! ” and drove off to Kokoshkin. 

It was already past four o’clock in the morning. 






X 


t i ^HE chief of police Kokoshkin was aroused, 
y and the arrival of Svinin, who had come 
on important business, that could not be 
postponed, was reported to him. 

The general got up at once and, with an over¬ 
coat wrapped round him, wiping his forehead, 
yawning and stretching himself, came out to 
receive Svinin. Kokoshkin listened with great 
attention, but quite calmly, to all Svinin had to 
relate. During all these explanations and requests 
for indulgence he only said : 

The soldier left his sentry-box, and saved a 
man ? ” 

Yes, sir,” answered Svinin. 

“ And the sentry-box ? ” 

“ Remained empty during that time.” 

H’m ! I knew that it remained empty. Vm 
very pleased that nobody stole it.” 

Hearing this Svinin felt certain that the general 
knew all about the case, and that he had already 
decided in what manner he would place the facts 
before the Emperor in his morning’s report, and 






26 


The Sentry 


also that he would not alter this decision. Other¬ 
wise such an event as a soldier of the Palace 
Guard having left his post would without doubt 
have caused greater alarm to the energetic chief 
of police. 

But Kokoshkin did not know anything about 
it. The police inspector to whom the officer of 
the Invalid Corps had conveyed the man saved 
from drowning did not consider it a matter of great 
importance. In his sight it was not at all a subject 
that required him to awaken the weary chief of 
police in the middle of the night, and besides the 
whole event appeared to the inspector somewhat 
« suspicious, because the officer of the Invalids’ 
was quite dry, which certainly could not have 
been the case if he had saved a man from drown¬ 
ing at the risk of his own life. The inspector 
looked upon the officer as an ambitious liar, who 
wanted to obtain another medal for his breast, 
and therefore detained him while the clerk on 
duty was taking down his statement, and tried to 
arrive at the truth by asking about all sorts of 
minute details. 

It was disagreeable for the inspector that such 
an event should have occurred in his district, and 
that the man had been saved, not by a policeman 
but by an officer of the Palace Guard. 

Kokoshkin’s calmness could be explained very 






The Sentry 27 

simply : first, by his terrible fatigue, after a day 
of anxiety and hard work, and by his having assisted 
in the night at the extinguishing of two fires, and 
secondly because the act of the sentry Postnikor 
did not concern him, as Chief of Police, at all. 

Nevertheless, Kokoshkin at once gave the neces¬ 
sary instructions. 

He sent to the Inspector of the Admiralty 
Quarter and ordered him to come at once and 
bring the officer of the Invalid Corps and the 
man who had been saved with him, and asked 
Svinin to remain in the small waiting room ad¬ 
joining his office. Then Kokoshkin went into 
his study, without closing the door, sat down at 
the table, and began to sign various papers, but 
he soon rested his head on his hand and fell asleep 
in his arm-chair at the table. 






XI 


N those days there were neither municipal 
telegraphs nor telephones, and in order to 
transmit the commands of the chiefs the 
forty thousand couriers ” of whom Gogol has 
left a lasting memory in his comedy had to ride 
post haste in all directions. 

This of course was not so quickly done as by 
telegraph or telephone, but lent considerable 
animation to the town and proved that the author¬ 
ities were indefatigably vigilant. 

Before the breathless inspector, the life-saving 
officer, and the man rescued from drowning had 
time to come from the Admiralty police station 
the nervous and energetic General Kokoshkin had 
had time to have a snooze and refresh himself. 
This was seen in the expression of his face, and by 
the revival of his mental faculties. 

Kokoshkin ordered all who had arrived to 
come to his study and with them Svinin too. 

The official report ? ” the General demanded 
of the Inspector. 

The latter silently handed a folded paper to 
the General and then whispered in a low voice : 

28 









The Sentry 


JU 


29 


I must beg permission to communicate a few 
words to your Excellency in private.” 

Very well.” 

Kokoshkin went towards the bay-window fol¬ 
lowed by the Inspector. 

What is it ? ” 

The Inspector’s indistinct whispers could be 
heard, and the General’s loud interjections. 

H’m, yes ! Well, what then ? . . . . It is 

possible.They take care to come out dry. 

. . . . Anything more ? ” 

“ Nothing, sir.” 

The General came out of the bay-window, sat 
down at his desk, and began to read. He read 
the report in silence without showing any signs 
of uneasiness or suspicion, and then turning to 
the man who had been saved, asked in a loud voice : 

How comes it, my friend, that you got into 
the open places before the Palace ? ” 

Forgive me ! ” 

So ! You were drunk ? ” 

Excuse me, I was not drunk, but only tipsy.” 
Why did you get into the water ? ” 

I w'anted to cut across the ice, lost my way, 
and got into the water.” 

That means it was dark before your eyes.” 

It was dark ; it was dark all round, your 
Excellency.” 








30 The Sentry 

‘‘ And you were not able to notice who pulled 
you out ? ” 

‘‘ Pardon me, I could not notice anything. I 
think it was he ”—he pointed to the officer and 
added : I could not distinguish anything. I 

was so scared.” 

That’s what it comes to. You were loafing 
about when you ought to have been asleep. Now 
look at him well and remember who was your 
benefactor. An honourable man risked his life 
to save you.” 

I shall never forget it.” 

‘‘ Your name, sir ? ” 

The officer mentioned his name. 

“ Do you hear ? ” 

I hear, your Excellency.” 

“ You are Orthodox ? ” 

‘‘ I am Orthodox, your Excellency.” 

“ In your prayers for health, remember this 
man’s name.” 

“ I will write it down, your Excellency.” 

Pray to God for him, and go away. You are 
no longer wanted.” 

He bowed to the ground and cleared ofi im¬ 
measurably pleased that he was released. 

Svinin stood there, and could not understand 
how by God’s grace things were taking such a turn. 







XII 


K OKOSHKIN turned to the officer of the 
Invalid Corps. 

‘‘ You saved this man, at the risk of 
your own life ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, your Excellency.” 

There were no witnesses to this occurrence, 
and owing to the late hour there could not have 
been any ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, your Excellency, it was dark, and on 
the quay there was nobody, except the sentry.” 

There is no need to mention the sentry ; the 
sentry has to stand at his post and has no right to 
occupy himself with anything else. I believe 
what is written in this report. Was it not taken 
down from your words ? ” 

These words Kokoshkin pronounced with special 
emphasis, as if he were threatening or shouting. 

The officer did not falter, but with staring eyes 
and expanded chest, standing at attention, 
answered : 

“ From my words and quite correctly, your 
Excellency.' 


j) 


31 





32 The Sentry 

‘‘ Your action deserves a reward.” 

The officer bowed gratefully. 

‘‘ There is nothing to thank for,” continued 
Kokoshkin. I shall report your self-sacrificing 
act to His Majesty the Emperor, and your breast 
may be decorated with a medal even to-day. 
Now you may go home, have a warm drink, and 
don’t leave the house, as perhaps you may be 
wanted.” 

The officer of the Invalid Corps beamed all 
over, bowed and retired. 

Kokoshkin looking after him said : 

“ It is possible that the Emperor may wish 
to see him.” 

“ I understand,” answered the Inspector, with 
apprehension. 

“ I do not require you any more.” 

The Inspector left the room, closed the door, 
and in accordance with his religious habit crossed 
himself. 

The officer of the Invalids’ was waiting for the 
Inspector below, and they went away together 
much better friends than when they had come. 

Only Svinin remained in the study of the Chief 
of Police. Kokoshkin looked at him long and 
attentively, and then asked : 

‘‘ You have not been to the Grand Duke ? ” 

At that time when the Grand Duke was men- 






The Sentry 33 

tioned everybody knew that it referred to the 
Grand Duke Michael. 

I came straight to you,” answered Svinin. 
Who was the officer on guard ? ” 

‘‘ Captain Miller.” 

Kokoshkin again looked at Svinin and said : 

I think you told me something different before.” 
Svinin did not understand to what this could 
refer, and remained silent, and Kokoshkin added : 
‘‘ Well, it’s all the same ; good night.” 

The audience was over. 


C 





XIII 

A bout one o’clock the officer of the Invalids, 
was really sent for by Kokoshkin, who 
informed him most amiably the Emperor 
was very much pleased that among the officers 
of the Invalids’ Corps of his palace there were to be 
found such vigilant and self-sacrificing men, and 
had honoured him with the medal for saving life. 
Then Kokoshkin decorated the hero with his own 
hands, and the officer went away to swagger about 
town with the medal on his breast. 

This affair could therefore be considered as 
quite finished, but Lieutenant-Colonel Svinin felt 
it was not concluded and regarded himself as 
called upon to put the dots on the ‘‘ i’s.” • 

He had been so much alarmed that he was ill 
for three days, and on the fourth drove to the 
Peter House, had a service of thanksgiving said 
for him before the icon of the Saviour, and return¬ 
ing home reassured in his soul, sent to ask Captain 
Miller to come to him. 

Well, thank God, Nikolai Ivanovich,” he 
said to Miller, “ the storm that was hanging 

34 


over 





The Sentry 


35 


us has entirely passed away, and our unfortunate 
affair with the sentry has been quite settled. I 
think we can now breathe freely. All this we owe 
without doubt first to the mercy of God, and 
secondly to General Kokoshkin. Let people say 
he is not kind and heartless, but I am full of grati¬ 
tude for his magnanimity and respect for his 
resourcefulness and tact. In what a masterly 
way he took advantage of that vainglorious In¬ 
valid swindler, who, in truth, for his impudence 
ought to have received not a medal but a good 
thrashing in the stable. There was nothing else 
for him to do ; he had to take advantage of this 
to save many, and Kokoshkin manoeuvred the 
whole affair so cleverly that nobody had the 
slightest unpleasantness ; on the contrary, all 
are very happy and contented. Between our¬ 
selves, I can tell you, I have been informed by a 
reliable person that Kokoshkin is very satisfied 
with me. He was pleased I had not gone anywhere 
else, but came straight to him, and that I did not 
argue with this swindler, who received a medal. 
In a word, nobody has suffered, and all has been 
done with so much tact that there can be no fear 
for the future ; but there is one thing wanting on 
our side. We must follow Kokoshkin’s example 
and finish the affair with tact on our side, so as 
to guarantee ourselves from any future occurrences. 







36 The Sentry 

There is still one person whose position is not 
regulated. I speak of Private Postnikov. He is 
still lying in prison under arrest, no doubt troubled 
with the thoughts of what will be done to him. 
We must put an end to his torments.” 

Yes, it is time,” said Miller, delighted. 

Well, certainly, and you are the best man 
to do it. Please go at once to the barracks call 
your company together, lead Private Postnikov 
out of prison, and let him be punished with two 
hundred lashes before the whole company.” 





XIV 

M iller was astonished, and made an 
atte.mpt to persuade Svinin to com¬ 
plete the general happiness by showing 
mercy to Private Postnikov, and to pardon him 
as he had already suffered so much while lying 
in prison awaiting his fate, but Svinin only got 
angry and did not allow Miller to continue. 

“ No,” he broke in, none of that ! I have 
only just talked to you about tact and you at once 
are tactless ! None of that ! ” 

Svinin changed his tone to a dryer, more official 
one, and added sternly : 

And as in this affair you too are not quite 
in the right, but really much to blame because 
your softness of heart is quite unsuitable for a 
military man, and this deficiency of your character 
is reflected in your subordinates, therefore you 
are to be present personally at the execution of 
my orders and to see that the flogging is done 
seriously—as severely as possible. For this pur¬ 
pose have the goodness to give orders that the 
young soldiers who have just arrived from the 

37 





38 


The Sentry 


army shall do the whipping, because our old 
soldiers are all infected with the liberalism of the 
guards. They won’t whip a comrade properly, 
but would only frighten the fleas away from his 
back. I myself will look in to see that they have 
done the guilty man properly.” 

To evade in any way instructions given by a 
superior officer was of course impossible, and kind- 
hearted Captain Miller was obliged to execute 
with exactitude the orders received from the 
commander of his battalion. 

The company was drawn up in the court-yard 
of the Ismailovsky barracks ; the rods were 
fetched in sufficient quantities from the stores, 
and Private Postnikov was brought out of his 
prison and “ done properly ” at the hands of the 
zealous comrades, who had just arrived from the 
army. These men, who had not as yet been tainted 
by the liberalism of the guards, put all the dots 
on the i’s to the full, as ordered by the commander 
of the battalion. Then Postnikov, having received 
his punishment, was lifted up on the overcoat on 
which he had been whipped and carried to the 
hospital of the regiment. 








XV 

T he commander of the battalion, Svinin, 
as soon as he heard that the punishment 
had been inflicted, went at once to visit 
Postnikov in the hospital in a most fatherly way, 
and to satisfy himself by a personal examination 
that his orders had been properly executed. Heart- 
sore and nervous, Postnikov had been “ done 
properly.” Svinin was satisfied and ordered that 
Postnikov should receive, on his behalf, a pound of 
sugar and a quarter of a pound of tea with which 
to regale himself while he was recovering. Post¬ 
nikov from his bed heard this order about tea and 
said : 

“ I am very contented your honour. Thank 
you for your fatherly kindness.” 

And he really was contented, because while 
lying three days in prison he had expected some¬ 
thing much worse. Two hundred lashes, accord¬ 
ing to the strict ideas of those days, was of very 
little consequence in comparison with the punish¬ 
ments that people suffered by order of the military 
courts ; and that is the sort of punishment he 

39 





40 The Sentry 

would have had awarded him if, by good luck, 
all the bold and tactful evolutions, which are 
related above, had not taken place. 

But the number of persons who were pleased 
at the events just described was not limited to 
these. 









XVI 


pVHE Story of the exploit of Private Post- 
nikov was secretly whispered in various 
circles of society in the capital, which 
in those days, when the public Press had no voice, 
lived in a world of endless gossip. In these verbal 
transmissions the name of the real hero. Private 
Postnikov, was lost, but instead of that the episode 
became embellished and received a very interesting 
and romantic character. 

It was related that an extraordinary swimmer 
had swum from the side of the Peter and Paul 
Fortress, and had been fired at and wounded by 
one of the sentries stationed before the Winter 
Palace and an officer of the Invalid Guard, who 
was passing at the time, threw himself into the 
water and saved him from drowning, for which 
the one had received the merited reward, and 
the other the punishment he deserved. These 
absurd reports even reached the Conventual House, 
inhabited at that time by His Eminence, a high 
ecclesiastic, who was cautious but not indifferent 
to worldly matters, and who was benevolently 

41 






42 


The Sentry 


disposed towards and a well-wisher of the pious 
Moscow family Svinin. 

The story of the shot seemed improbable to the 
astute ecclesiastic. What nocturnal swimmer could 
it be ? If he was an escaped prisoner, why was 
the sentry punished, for he had only done his duty 
in shooting at him, when he saw him swimming 
across the Neva from the fortress. If he was not a 
prisoner, but another mysterious man, who had 
to be saved from the waves of the Neva, how could 
the sentry know anything about him ? And then 
again, it could not have happened as it was whis¬ 
pered in frivolous society. In society much is 
accepted in a light-hearted and frivolous manner, 
but those who live in monasteries and conventual 
houses look upon all this much more seriously 
and are quite conversant with the real things of 
this world. 





XVII 


T 


O NCE when Svinin happened to be at His 
Eminence’s to receive his blessing the 
distinguished dignitary began : By the 

by, about that shot ? ” Svinin related the whole 
truth, in which there was nothing whatever about 
that shot.” 

The high ecclesiastic listened to the real story 
in silence, gently touching his white rosary and 
never taking his eyes off the narrator. When 
Svinin had finished His Eminence quietly mur¬ 
mured in rippling speech : 

From all this one is obliged to conclude that 
in this matter the statements made were neither 
wholly nor on every occasion strictly true. 

Svinin stammered and then answered with the 
excuse that it was not he but General Kokoshkin 
who had made the report. 

His Eminence passed his rosary through his 
waxen fingers in silence, and then murmured : 

One must make a distinction between a lie 
and what is not wholly true.” 

43 





The Sentry 


11 

Again the rosary, again silence, and at last 
a soft ripple of speech : 

A half truth is not a lie, but the less said about 
it the better.’” 

Svinin was encouraged and said : 

‘‘ That is certainly true. What troubles me 
most is that I had to inflict a punishment upon 
the soldier, who, although he had neglected his 
duty . . . .” 

The rosary and a soft rippling interruption : 

The duties of service must never be neg¬ 
lected.” 

Yes, but it was done by him through mag¬ 
nanimity, through sympathy after such a struggle, 
and with danger. He understood that in saving 
the life of another man he was destroying him¬ 
self. This is a high, a holy feeling . . . .” 

‘‘ Holiness is known to God ; corporal punish¬ 
ment is not destruction for a common man, nor 
is it contrary to the customs of the nations, nor 
to the spirit of the Scriptures. The rod is easier 
borne by the coarse body than delicate suffering 
by the soul. In this case your justice has not 
suffered in the slightest degree.” 

But he was deprived of the reward for saving 
one who was perishing.” 

To save those who are perishing is not a merit, 
but rather a duty. He who could save but did 









The Sentry 45 

not save is liable to the punishment of the laws ; 
but he who saves does his duty.” 

A pause, the rosary, and soft rippling speech: 

‘‘ For a warrior to suffer degradation and wounds 
for his action is perhaps much more profitable 
than marks of distinction. But what is most 
important is to be careful in this case, and never 
to mention anywhere or on any occasion what 
anybody said about it.” 

It was evident His Eminence was also satisfied. 








XVIII 


I F I had the temerity of the happy chosen of 
Heaven, who through their great faith are 
enabled to penetrate into the secrets of the 
Will of God, then I would perhaps dare to permit 
myself the supposition that probably God Him¬ 
self was satisfied with the conduct of Postnikov’s 
humble soul, which He had created. But my 
faith is small; it does not permit my mind to 
penetrate so high. I am of the earth, earthy. 
I think of those mortals who love goodness, simply 
because it is goodness and do not expect any 
reward for it, wherever it may be. I think these 
true and faithful people will also be entirely satis¬ 
fied with this holy impulse of love, and not less 
holy endurance of the humble hero of my true 
and artless story. 


46 









THE LADY MACBETH OF THE 
MZINSK DISTRICT 





«< 


i 


\ 





I 

I N our part of the country you sometimes meet 
people of whom, even many years after you 
have seen them, you are unable to think 
without a certain inward shudder. Such a char¬ 
acter was the merchant’s wife, Katerina Lvovna 
Izmaylova, who played the chief part in a terrible 
tragedy some time ago, and of whom the 
nobles of our district, adopting the light nick¬ 
name somebody had given her, never spoke other¬ 
wise than as the Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk 
District. 

Katerina Lvovna was not really a beauty, but 
she was a woman of a very pleasing appearance. 
She was about twenty-four years of age ; not very 
tall, but slim, with a neck that was like chiseled 
marble ; she had soft round shoulders, firm breasts, 
a straight thin little nose, bright black eyes, a 
high white forehead, and black, almost blue black, 
hair. She came from Tuskar in the Kursk pro¬ 
vince and had married Izmaylov, a merchant of 
our place, not because she loved him or from any 
attraction towards him, but simply because he 

49 







50 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


courted her, and she, being a poor girl, was not 
able to be too particular in making her choice 
of a husband. The firm of the Izmaylovs was 
one of the most considerable in our town ; they 
dealt in wheaten flour, leased a large flour mill 
in the district, owned profitable fruit orchards 
not far from town, and in the town had a fine 
house. In a word, they were wealthy merchants. 
Their family was quite small. It consisted of her 
father-in-law, Boris Timofeich Izmaylov, a man 
of nearly eighty who had long been a widower ; 
Zinovey Borisych Katerina Lvovna’s husband, a 
man of over fifty ; and Katerina Lvovna herself. 
Katerina Lvovna, who had now been married 
for five years, had no children. Zinovey Borisych 
had also no children from his first wife, with whom 
he had lived for twenty years before he became 
a widower and married Katerina Lvovna. He 
had thought and hoped that God would give him 
an heir by his second marriage to inherit his com¬ 
mercial name and fortune ; but in this, too, he 
and Katerina Lvovna had no luck. 

Not having children grieved Zinovey Borisych 
very much, and not only Zinovey Borisych, but 
also the old man Boris Timofeich, and it made even 
Katerina Lvovna herself very sad ; first, because 
the immeasurable dullness of this secluded mer¬ 
chant’s house, with its high fence and unchained 






The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 51 


watch-dogSj often made her feel so very melancholy 
that she almost went mad, and she would have been 
pleased, God knows how pleased, to have had a 
child to nurse ; and also because she was tired of 
hearing reproaches : Why did she get married ? 
What was the use of getting married ? Why 
was she, a barren woman, bound by fate to a man ? 
Just as if she had indeed committed a crime against 
her husband, against her father-in-law, and their 
whole race of honest merchants. 

Notwithstanding all the wealth and plenty that 
surrounded her in her father-in-law’s house, Kater¬ 
ina Lvovna’s life was a very dull one. She seldom 
went to visit anyone, and even when she drove 
with her husband to any of his merchant friends, 
it was no pleasure. The people were all strict : 
they watched how she sat down, how she walked 
across the room, how she got up. Now Katerina 
Lvovna had a passionate nature, and having been 
brought up in poverty she was accustomed to 
simplicity and freedom: running with pails to 
the river for water, bathing under the pier in a 
shift, or scattering sun-flower seeds over the 
gate on to the head of any young fellow who might 
be passing by. Here all was different. Her 
father-in-law and her husband got up early, drank 
tea at six o’clock, and then went out to their 
business, and she stayed behind, to roam about the 





52 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

house from one room to another. Everywhere it 
was clean, everywhere it was quiet and empty 5 
the lamps glimmered before the icons ; but nowhere 
in the house could you hear the sound of life or a 
human voice. 

Katerina Lvovna would wander about the empty 
rooms, and begin to yawn because she was dull. 
Then mounting the stairs to their conjugal cham¬ 
ber, which was in a high, small attic, she would 
sit down at the window and look at the men weigh¬ 
ing hemp or filling sacks with flour—she would 
yawn again—she was glnd to feel sleepy she 
would then take a nap for an hour or two, and 
when she awoke—there was the same dullness, 
the Russian dullness, the dullness of a merchant s 
house, which they say makes it quite a pleasure 
to strangle oneself. Katerina Lvovna did not 
like reading and even had she liked it there were 
no books in the house except the Kiev Lives of the 
Fathers. 

This was the dull life Katerina Lvovna had 
lived in the house of her rich father-in-law all the 
five years of her married life with her indifferent 
husband ; but nobody, as usual, took the slightest 
notice of her loneliness. 












II 


TN the spring of the sixth year of Katerina 
I Lvovna’s married life the dam of the Izmay¬ 
lov’s mill burst. Just at that time, as if on 
purpose, much work had been brought to the mill, 
and the damages were very extensive. The water had 
washed away the lower beams of the mill-race, and 
it had been imipossible to stop it in a hurry. Zinovey 
Borisych had collected workmen from the whole 
district at the mill, and himself remained there 
permanently. The town business was carried on 
by the old man, and Katerina Lvovna lan¬ 
guished at home quite alone for days on end. At 
first she was even duller without her husband, 
but after a time it seemed to her better so ; she 
was freer when alone. Her heart had never been 
very greatly drawn towards him, and without him 
at any rate there was one less to order her about. 

One day Katerina Lvovna was sitting at the 
small window of her attic ; she yawned thinking 
of nothing in particular, and at last became ashamed 
of yawning. The weather was beautiful—warm, 
light, gay—and through the green wooden palings 

53 








54 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


of the garden one could see the playful birds in 
the trees fluttering about from branch to branch. 

I wonder why I am yawning so,” thought 
Katerina Lvovna. “ Well, I might get up and 
walk about the yard, or go into the garden.” 

Katerina Lvovna threw an old cloth jacket 
over her shoulders and went out. 

Out of doors it was light, and you could take 
deep long breaths, and in the shed near the ware¬ 
house such gay laughter was heard. 

‘‘ Why are you so merry ? ” said Katerina 
Lvovna to her father-in-law’s clerk. 

Little Mother, Katerina Lvovna, it’s because 
they are weighing a live pig,” answered the old 
clerk. 

‘‘ What! A pig ? ” 

It is that pig Aksinia, who gave birth to a son, 
Vassili, and never invited us to the christening,” 
answered a merry, bold young fellow. He had 
an impudent good-looking face, framed in curly 
coal-black locks, and a little beard that was only 
just beginning to grow. 

At that moment the fat red face of the cook 
Aksinia looked out of the flour vat which was 
hanging to the beam of the weighing machine. 

You devils, you smooth faced imps ! ” the 
cook swore, trying to catch hold of the iron beam 
and get out of the swaying vat. 









The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 55 


She weighs eight pouds before dinner, but 
when she has eaten a pile of hay there wont be 
enough weights ! ” the good-looking young fellow 
continued, to explain, and turning the vat over he 
threw the cook out on some sacks that were heaped 
up in a corner. 

The woman abusing them laughingly began to 
tidy herself. 

Well, and how much would I weigh ? ” said 
Katerina Lvovna jokingly, and taking hold of the 
rope got on to the weighing machine. 

‘‘ Three pouds and seven pounds,” answered 
the same good-looking Sergei, throwing the weights 
on to the machine. “ Wonderful.” 

“ What are you wondering at ? ” 

‘‘ That you weigh three pouds, Katerina Lvovna. 
One would have to carry you all day long in one’s 
arms, I reckon, before getting exhausted—it would 
only be a pleasure.” 

‘‘ What, am I not like other people, eh ? If 
you carried me, never fear, you would get just as 
tired,” answered Katerina Lvovna, blushing slight¬ 
ly. She was unused to such words, and she 
suddenly felt a desire to chatter and say all sorts 
of gay, jolly things. 

Certainly not! Good Lord ! I would carry 
you to Arabia the Blessed,” answered Sergei to 
her remark. 









56 The Lady Macheth of the Mzinsk District 


‘‘ Young man, you don’t argue correctly,” 
said the peasant who was filling the sacks. What 
is of weight in us ? Is it our body that weighs ? 
Our body, my good fellow, counts for nothing on the 
scales : it’s our strength, our strength, that weighs 
—not our body ! ” 

Yes, when I was a girl, I was terribly strong,” 
said Katerina Lvovna, who was unable to restrain 
herself. ‘‘ Not every man could get the better 
of me.” 

Well, then, if that is so, give me your little 
hand,” said the handsome young fellow. 

Katerina Lvovna became confused, but held 
out her hand. 

“ Oh, let go of my ring, it hurts ! ” cried Katerina 
Lvovna, when Sergei squeezed her hand in his ; 
and with her free hand she gave him a blow on the 
chest. 

The young fellow released the mistress’s hand and 
her blow made him stagger two paces backwards. 

So that’s how you can judge a woman,” 
said the surprised peasant. 

“No, allow me to try to wrestle with you ? ” 
said Sergei, throwing back his curls. 

“ Very well, try,” answered Katerina Lvovna 
gaily, and she lifted up her elbows. 

Sergei put his arms round the young mistress, 
and pressed her firm breasts to his red shirt. 







The Lady Macbeth of the Miznsk District 57 


Katerina Lvovna could only make a slight move¬ 
ment of her shoulders, and Sergei lifted her from 
the floor, held her up in the air, pressed her to 
himself, and then gently set her down on the 
overturned vat. 

Katerina Lvovna had no time even to attempt 
to make use of her boasted strength. She looked 
very red as she sat on the measure and arranged 
the jacket on her shoulders, and then quietly 
went out of the warehouse ; while Sergei coughed 
vigorously and shouted : 

‘‘ Now then, you blockheads ! Don’t stand and 
gape. Fill the sacks and give level measure ; 
strict measure is our gain.” Just as if he were pay¬ 
ing no heed to what had just occurred. 

He’s always after the girls, that damned 
Serezhka,” said the cook Aksinia, as she waddled 
after Katerina Lvovna. The rascal is attractive 
in every way—fine body, fine face, good looks. 
He will coax and flatter any woman you like— 
and then lead her to sin. He is a flckle scoundrel 
too—as flckle as you make ’em ! ” 

And you, Aksinia, what about you ? ” said 
the young mistress walking in front. Is your 
boy still alive ? ” 

He’s alive, little mother, he’s alive. Why 
shouldn’t he be ? They always live where they’re 
not wanted.” 










58 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 
Whose is he ? ” 

Eh, who’s to know ? One lives in a crowd— 
one walks about with many.” 

‘‘ Has that young fellow been long with us ? ” 

‘‘ Which young fellow ? Do you mean Sergei ? ” 
‘‘ Yes.” 

‘‘ About a month. He served before at Koncho- 
nov’s. The master kicked him out.” Aksinia 
lowered her voice and continued : “ They say 

he had a love affair with the mistress there. The 
cursed young scamp ! See how bold he is ! ” 





Ill 


A WARM milky twilight hung over the town. 

Zinovey Borisych had not yet returned 
from the work at the dam. The father- 
in-law Boris Timofeich was not at home either ; 
he had gone to the celebration of an old friend’s 
name-day, and had said he would not be home 
for supper. Katerina Lvovna, having nothing to 
do, had retired early to her room, and opening the 
little window of her attic, sat leaning against 
the window-post, cracking sunflower seeds. The 
servants had finished their supper in the kitchen 
and had gone to bed, some in the barn, some in the 
warehouse, and others in the high sweet-scented 
hay loft. Sergei was the last to leave the kitchen. 
He walked about the yard, unchained the watch¬ 
dogs, and passed whistling under Katerina Lvovna’s 
window. He looked up at her and bowed low. 

How do you do .? ” Katerina Lvovna said to 
him quietly from her attic, and the yard became 
silent as if it were a desert. 

Madam ! ” said somebody, five minutes later 
at Katerina Lvovna^’s locked door. 

59 






6o The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


Who’s there ? ” asked Katerina Lvovna, 
frightened. 

“ Don’t be afraid ! It’s I, Sergei,” answered the 
clerk. 

Sergei ? What do you want ? ” 

‘‘ I have a little business with you, Katerina 
Lvovna ; I want to ask your gracious self about a 
small matter. Allow me to come in for a moment.” 
Katerina Lvovna turned the key and let Sergei in. 
‘‘ What do you want ? ” she said, going to the 
window. 

I have come to yoji^ Katerina Lvovna, to 
ask if you have some book you could give me to 
read. It helps to drive away boredom.” 

No, Sergei, I have no books. I do not read 
them,” answered Katerina Lvovna. 

‘‘ It’s so dull ! ” Sergei complained. 

‘‘ Why should you feel dull ? ” 

‘‘ Good gracious, how can I help feeling dull ? 
I’m a young man ; we live here like in a monastery, 
and the only future to be seen is that we shall go 
on stagnating in this solitude till we are under 
the coffin-lid. It makes one sometimes despair.” 

Why don’t you get married ? ” 

“ It’s easy, madam, to say get married. Whom 
can one marry here ? I’m only an unimportant 
man. A master’s daughter won’t marry me, and 
owing to poverty, as you yourself know, Katerina 





The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 6i 


Lvovna, I have not much education. How could 
such a girl know anything about real love ? Surely 
you have noticed how rich merchants understand 
it. Now you, one may say, would be a comfort 
to any man who has any feelings, but they keep 
you in a cage like a canary-bird.” 

Yes, I am dull, ” exclaimed Katerina Lvovna 
involuntarily. 

“ How can one help being dull, madam, in such 
a life ? Even if you had another, as others have, 
it would be impossible to see him.” 

Why, what do you mean ? It’s not that at 
all. If only I had had a child, I think I should 
be merry with it.” 

Yes, but allow me to say madam, even a 
child comes from somewhere and not out of the 
clouds. Do you think, that now having lived 
so many years with masters, and having seen the 
sort of life the women have among merchants, 
we also don’t understand ? The song says : 
‘ Without a dear friend, sadness and grief possess 
thee.’ And this sadness, I must inform you, 
Katerina Lvovna, has made my heart feel so 
tender, that I could take a steel knife to cut it out 
of my breast and throw it at your little feet. It 
would be easier, a hundred times easier for me 
then . . . .” 

Sergei’s voice shook. 






62 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


‘‘ Why are you telling me about your heart ? 
I have nothing to do with it. Go away . . . 

No, allow me, madam,” said Sergei, trembling 
all over and taking a step towards Katerina Lvovna. 
“ I know, I see, I feel and understand quite well 
that your lot is no better than mine in this world ; 
but now,” said he, drawing a long breath, now^ 
at this moment, all this is in your hands, and in 
your power.” 

‘‘ What do you mean ?—Why have you come 
to me ?—I shall throw myself out of the window,” 
said Katerina Lvovna, feeling herself under the 
intolerable power of an indescribable terror, and 
she caught hold of the window sill. 

My life 1 My incomparable one, why should 
you throw yourself out of the window ? ” whispered 
Sergei boldly, and tearing the young mistress 
away from the window he pressed her in a close 
embrace. 

‘‘ Oh, oh, let me go,” Katerina Lvovna sighed 
gently, becoming weak under Sergei’s hot kisses, 
and she pressed, contrary to her own wish, closer 
to his strong body. 

Sergei lifted the mistress up in his arms like 
a child and carried her to a dark corner. 

A silence fell upon the room, which was only 
broken by the soft regular ticking of a watch, 
belonging to Katerina Lvovna’s husband, which 






The Lady Macheth of the Mzinsk District 63 

hung over the head of the bed ; but this did not 
disturb them. 

“ Go,” said Katerina Lvovna half an hour later, 
without looking at Sergei, as she arranged her 
disordered hair before a small mirror. 

‘‘ Why should I go away from here now,” 
answered Sergei in a joyful voice. 

My father-in-law will lock the door.” 

‘‘ Eh, my dear, my dear ! What sort of people 
have you known, that you think the only road 
to a woman is through a door ? To come to you, 
or to go from you there are doors everywhere 
for me,” said the young fellow, pointing to the 
columns that supported the gallery. 





IV 


t "^OR more than a week Zinovey Borisych 
I did not return, and the whole time his 
wife spent every night, till the white dawn, 

with Sergei. 

In those nights much happened in Zinovey 
Borisych^s bedroom i wine from the father-in- 
law^s cellar was drunk i dainty sweetmeats eaten , 
many kisses taken from the mistress’s sugared 
lips, and black locks toyed with on the soft pillows. 
But not every road is smooth : some have ruts. 

Boris Timofeich could not sleep. The old man 
in his coloured print shirt wandered about the 
quiet house ; he went up to one window, went up 
to another, looked out, and saw Sergei in a red 
shirt quietly sliding down the column from his 
daughter-in-law’s window. ‘‘ What’s this ? ” 

Boris Timofeich hurried out and caught the young 
fellow by the leg. Sergei turned round wanting 
to give him a box on the ear, with his whole strength, 
but stopped, remembering the noise it would make. 

‘‘ Tell me where you have been, you young 
thief ? ” said Boris Timofeich. 

64 












The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 65 

“ Wherever it was, Boris Timofeich,’’ said Sergei, 

I am no longer there.” 

‘‘ Have you spent the night with my daughter- 
in-law ? ” 

“ Well, as to that, master, I know where I 
have passed the night ; but, Boris Timofeich, 
listen to my words ; what is done can’t be un¬ 
done, father. Don’t disgrace your merchant’s 
house by taking extreme measures. Tell me what 
you require of me now ? What amends do you 
want ? ” 

You asp, I want to give you five hundred 
lashes,” answered Boris Timofeich. 

“ As you will—it’s my fault,” agreed the young 
man. ‘‘ Tell me where to go ; do as you please— 
you may drink my blood.” 

Boris Timofeich took Sergei to his little stone 
store-room, and lashed him with his whip until 
he had no more strength. Sergei did not utter 
a groan, but instead he chewed half his shirt 
sleeve away. 

Boris Timofeich left Sergei in the store-room 
for the bruises on his back to heal, gave him an 
earthen jug of water, locked the door with a great 
padlock, and sent for his son. 

In Russia even now you can’t drive fast over 
by-ways, and Katerina Lvovna could not live 
a single hour without Sergei. Her awakened 





66 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

nature had suddenly developed to its full breadth, 
and she had become so resolute that it was im¬ 
possible to restrain her. She found out where 
Sergei was, talked with him through the iron door, 
and hurried away to look for the keys. Daddy, let 
Sergei out,” said she coming to her father-in-law. 

The old man turned green. He had never 
expected such brazen-faced insolence from his 
erring daughter-in-law, who till then had always 
been obedient 

What do you mean, you-” and he began 

to revile Katerina Lvovna. 

Let him out,” said she. I can answer with 
a clear conscience that as yet nothing wrong has 
passed between us.” 

‘‘ No wrong has happened,” said he, “ and there 
he is grinding his teeth. What did you do with 
him at night there ? Did you restuff your hus¬ 
band’s pillows ? ” 

But she only repeated the same words : “ Let 
him out, let him out.” 

“ If that is so,” said Boris Timofeich, ‘‘ this 
is what you shall have for reward : Your husband 
shall come, and we will take you, you honest wife, 
to the stable, and whip you with our own hands, 
and to-morrow that rascal shall be sent to prison.” 

This is what Boris Timofeich decided. His 
decision, however, was not carried out. 











V 


B oris TIMOFEICH ate mushrooms with 
gruel for supper ; he got a heart-burn 
from it. Then suddenly he had pains in 
the pit of the stomach, terrible vomitings began 
and he died before morning. He died just like 
the rats in his granary, for which Katerina Lvovna 
had always prepared, with her own hands, a certain 
kind of food made of a dangerous white powder 
that had been entrusted to her. 

Katerina Lvovna let Sergei out of the old man’s 
store-room and brazenly laid him publicly in her 
husband’s bed to recover from the blows that her 
father-in-law had inflicted on him. Her father- 
in-law was buried according to the rites of the 
Christian Church. Nobody was surprised at this 
strange occurrence. Boris Timofeich was dead, 
and had died after eating mushrooms, as many die 
after eating them. Boris Timofeich was buried 
hurriedly without waiting for his son to arrive ; 
it was very hot weather, and the messenger who 
had been sent to him did not And Zinovey Borisych 
at the mill. He had heard of a forest that was for 

67 







68 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

sale a hundred versts farther off, and had gone there 
to inspect it, without telling anybody which road 
he had taken. 

Having settled this business Katerina Lvovna 
became quite changed. She had never been one 
of your timid women, but now you could not guess 
what she would do next. She went about like an 
empress, gave orders to everybody, and did iiot let 
Sergei leave her for a moment. The people in the 
yard were surprised at this ; but Katerina Lvovna 
managed to reach all of them with her bountiful 
hand, and their surprise suddenly ceased. They 
understood that the mistress had some sort of busi¬ 
ness with Sergei—that’s all. It s her affair 
she will have to answer for it.” 

By this time Sergei had recovered ; he grew 
straight again and became again the same smart 
young fellow, like a live falcon at Katerina Lvovna s 
side, and their life of love making recommenced! 
But it was not only for them that time passed ; 
the injured husband was hastening home after 
his long absence. 










VI 


I N the afternoon the heat was baking and the 
nimble flies were unbearably irritating. 
Katerina Lvovna had closed the shutters 
of the bedroom window, hung a woollen shawl 
across it, and had laid herself down with Sergei 
to rest on the merchant’s high bed. Katerina 
Lvovna was scarcely asleep, but oppressed by the 
heat, her face was wet with perspiration and her 
breath came hot and heavy. She felt it was time 
to wake up, that it was time to go into the garden 
to have tea, but she could not move. At last the 
cook knocked at the door and announced that 
the samovar w’as getting cold under the apple tree. 
Katerina Lvovna with scarcely opened eyes began 
to caress the cat. The cat squeezed itself in 
between Sergei and her. It was such a flne grey 
cat, large and fat, with whiskers like a tax-col¬ 
lector’s. Katerina Lvovna began to stroke his 
thick fur. He stretched out his head to her, thrust 
his blunt nose coaxingly against her firm breasts 
and began to sing a soft song, as if he were telling 
her of love. I wonder why this cat has come 

69 





70 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

here ? ’’ thought Katerina Lvovna. ‘‘ I put some 
cream on the window sill; I am sure the rascal 
has lapped it up. I must turn him out,” she 
decided and wanted to seize hold of him and put 
him out of the room, but he seemed to slip away 
between her fingers like a mist. ‘‘ How has this 
cat come here ? ” Katerina Lvovna thought in 
her dream. We have never had a cat in our 
bedroom and now see what a fine one has got in.” 
She again tried to catch the cat, but again it was 
not there. What can it be ? I wonder if it is 
a cat at all ? ” thought Katerina Lvovna. A 
panic seized her and drove both her dream and 
her sleep quite away. Katerina Lvovna looked 
round the room ; there was no cat anywhere, only 
handsome Sergei lying there and with his strong 
hand pressing her breast to his hot face. 

Katerina Lvovna rose, sat down on the bed, kissed 
and caressed Sergei many times, arranged the 
disordered feather bed, and went into the garden 
to drink tea. The sun was already low, and a 
beautiful, enchanting evening was settling down 
on the hot earth. 

I have slept too long,” said Katerina Lvovna 
to Aksinia as she sat down on a carpet under the 
flowering apple tree to drink tea. What does 
this mean, Aksinia ? ” she asked the cook as she 
wiped a saucer with the tea-cloth. 





The Lady Macbeth of the Mtinsk District 71 

What, little mother ? ” 

‘‘ It was not like a dream, but I saw quite clearly 
a cat creep up to me.” 

Really ! ” 

It’s quite true a cat crept up to me,” and 
Katerina Lvovna related how the cat had crept 
up to her. 

Why did you fondle it ? ” 

That’s just it. I don’t know why I did.” 

‘‘ Wonderful, certainly ! ” exclaimed the cook. 

I can’t help being astonished.” 

It certainly seems as if somebody will come 
to you, don’t you think, or as if something will 
happen ? ” 

‘‘ At first I dreamed of the moon, and then of 
this cat,” continued Katerina Lvovna. 

‘‘ The moon, that means a baby.” 

Katerina Lvovna blushed. 

Should I not send Sergei to your honour ? ” 
said Aksinia trying to obtain confidences. 

“ Well, why not ! ” answered Katerina Lvovna, 
“ that’s a good idea. Go and send him to me, I 
will treat, him to tea here.” 

‘‘ Well, well, just as I thought. I will send him,” 
and Aksinia waddled off like a duck towards the 
garden gate. 

Katerina Lvovna also told Sergei about the 
cat. 






72 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk Dtisrict 


Only dreams,” answered Sergei. 

Why have these dreams never been before ? ” 

“ Many things have not been before. Formerly 
I could only look at you with my eyes and pine 
for you, and now behold ! Your whole white body 
is mine.” 

Sergei caught Katerina Lvovna in his arms, 
swung her round in the air, and playfully threw 
her down on the thick carpet. 

“ Oh, I am quite giddy ! ” said Katerina Lvovna. 
‘‘ Serezha, come here and sit down next to me,” 
she called to him tenderly as she stretched herself 
out luxuriously. 

The young fellow bent down, got under the low 
branches of the apple tree, which were covered with 
white blossoms, and seated himself on the carpet 
at Katerina Lvovna’s feet. 

So you pined for me, Serezha ! ” 

‘‘ How could I not pine for you ? ” 

‘‘ How did you pine for me ? Tell me all about 
it.” 

“ How can one explain it ? Is it possible to 
explain how one pines away ? I was melancholy ! ” 

‘‘ Serezha, why did I not feel that you were 
dying for me ? They say that can be felt.” 

Sergei remained silent. 

‘‘ Why did you sing songs if you were longing 
for me ? Why ? I heard you, believe me, singing 










The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 73 


under the shed.” Katerina Lvovna continued to 
question, fondling him all the time. 

What if I did sing songs ? The gnats sing 
their whole life, but not for joy,” answered Sergei 
dryly. 

There was a pause. Sergei’s confessions filled 
Katerina Lvovna with great delight. 

She wanted to talk, but Sergei frowned and was 
silent. 

Look, Sergei, what a paradise, a paradise,” 
cried Katerina Lvovna gazing up through the 
thick branches of the flowering apple tree, into the 
blue sky where the full moon hung serenely. 

The moonlight streaming through the leaves 
and flow'ers of the apple tree fell in the strangest 
bright spots on Katerina Lvovna’s face and figure, 
as she lay on her back beneath it. The air was 
still ; only a light warm breeze gently moved the 
sleepy leaves and brought with it the faint scent 
of flowering herbs and trees. It was difficult to 
breathe and one felt an inclination to laziness, 
indulgence, and dark desires. 

Katerina Lvovna not receiving an answer was 
again silent, and continued to gaze at the sky 
through the pale pink blossoms of the apple tree. 
Sergei remained silent too, but he was not interested 
in the sky ; clasping his knees with both arms he 
sat concentrating his gaze on his boots. 







74 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


A golden night ! Stillness, light, aroma and 
beneficent, vivifying warmth. On the other side 
of the garden, in the distance beyond the ravine, 
someone struck up a loud song ; near the fence in 
a thicket of bird-cherries a nightingale poured 
forth its shrill song ; in a cage on a high pole a 
sleepy quail jumped about ; the fat horse breathed 
heavily behind the stable wall; and on the other 
side of the garden fence a pack of gay dogs ran 
noiselessly across the common and disappeared in 
the strange, formless, black shade of the old, half- 
ruined salt-warehouses. 

Katerina Lvovna leaned on her elbow and looked 
at the high grass of the garden ; the grass seemed 
to be playing with the moonbeams, that fell in small 
flickers on the leaves and blossoms of the trees. 

All was gilded by these capricious bright spots 
that twinkled and trembled everywhere like fiery 
butterflies, as if the grass under the trees had been 
caught in a net of moonbeams and moved from 
side to side. 

Ah, Serezhechka, how beautiful,” cried 
Katerina Lvovna, looking round. 

Sergei looked round with indifference. 

‘‘ Serezha, why are you so joyless ? Are you 
already tired of my love ? ” 

Don’t talk nonsense,” answered Sergei shortly, 
and bending down kissed Katerina Lvovna lazily. 








The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 75 

You’re fickle, Serezha,” said Katerina Lvovna, 
feeling jealous. You’re not constant.” 

I won’t accept these words as applying to 
me,” said Sergei quietly. 

‘‘ Why do you kiss me in that w^ay ? ” 

Sergei became quite silent. 

‘‘ It is only husbands and wives ” continued 
Katerina Lvovna playing with his curls, who 
take the dust off each others lips in that way. 
Kiss me now so that the young blossoms of the 
apple tree above us shall fall to the earth.” 

“ In this way, in this way,” whispered Katerina 
Lvovna embracing her lover and kissing him with 
passionate abandonment. 

‘‘ Listen, Serezha to what I tell you,” began 
Katerina Lvovna a little later, why is it that 
everybody with one voice says that you are a 
deceiver ? ” 

‘‘ Who cares to tell lies about me ? ” 

Well, people say so.” 

Perhaps, 'at some time, I may have been false 
to those who were quite unworthy.” 

And pray why did you have anything to do 
with the unworthy, you fool ? It is stupid to make 
love to the worthless.” 

“ It’s all very well to talk ! Is this a matter one 
can reason about ? Temptation leads you astray. 
You have acted towards a woman quite simply. 








76 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


without regard to any of those commandments, 
and she hangs herself on your neck. And there 
you have love.” 

Listen, Serezha, I don’t know what others there 
may have been, and don’t want to know about them, 
but how you managed to persuade me, how you 
seduced me to our present love ; you yourself know ; 
how much was my desire, how much your cunning ; 
but if you betray me for another, Serezha ; if you 
leave me for any other, forgive me, sweetheart, 
for telling you, I will not part from you alive.” 

Sergei shuddered. 

‘‘ But, Katerina Lvovna, you are my bright 
light,” he began. You can see for yourself how 
our affair stands. You have just remarked that 
I am melancholy to-day, and you don’t reflect how 
I can be otherwise. Perhaps my whole heart is 
drenched with frozen blood.” 

‘‘ Tell me, Serezha, tell me your grief.” 

“ What can I tell you ? Here first of all, God 
help me, your husband will return ; then, you, 
Sergei Filipych, must go away ; go along to the 
back yard, to the musicians, and you can look 
out of the barn and see how the little candles burn 
in Katerina Lvovna’s bedroom ; how she shakes 
up her feather-bed, and how she is getting ready 
to sleep with her lawful husband, Zinovey Bo- 
risych.” 







The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 77 


“ That will never be,” said Katerina Lvovna 
gaily, and she waved her arms. 

“ What do you mean—‘ never be ’ ? As I under¬ 
stand it, it can’t be otherwise. I, too, Katerina 
Lvovna, have a heart and can see my own torments.” 

‘‘ That’s enough, why keep on talking about it ? ” 

It pleased Katerina Lvovna to see this expres¬ 
sion of jealousy in Sergei, and she laughed and 
began to kiss him again. 

“ But I repeat,” continued Sergei, quietly draw¬ 
ing his head away from Katerina Lvovna’s arms 
that were bare to the shoulders, ‘‘ I must own 
too that my miserable position causes me to 
reflect, not once but ten times, how it will all end. 
If I were, so to speak, your equal; if I were a 
gentleman, or a merchant, I would never part from 
you, Katerina Lvovna, in my whole life ; but you 
can judge for yourself what sort of a man I am 
compared to you. When I see you now taken by 
your little white hand and led into the bedchamber, 
I must bear it all in my heart; and can even become 
in my own eyes a despised man for the rest of my 
life, Katerina Lvovna ! I am not like the others 
who don’t mind anything if they can only get 
pleasure from a woman. I feel what love is, and 
how like a black snake it is sucking my heart. ...” 

“ Why are you telling me all this ? ” interrupted 
Katerina Lvovna. 







78 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

She was sorry for Sergei. 

‘‘ Katerina Lvovna, I must talk about it ? 
How can I help talking about it f Supposing every¬ 
thing is explained and described to him ; suppos¬ 
ing, not only at some distant time, but even to¬ 
morrow, Sergei will no longer be here in flesh or 
in spirit ? ” 

“ No, no, don’t talk about it, Serezha. This can 
never be. I can never exist without you,” 
Katerina Lvovna said trying to comfort him 
with more of the same caresses. If things come 
to that point, that either he or I cannot live—you 
will still be with me.” 

‘‘ This can never be, Katerina Lvovna,” 
answered Seregi sadly, and he shook his head 
gloomily. My life is miserable because of this 
love. If I loved someone no better than myself, 
I would be satisfied. How can I have your love 
for ever ? Would it be an honour for you—to be 
my sweetheart ? I want to become your husband 
in the holy eternal Church, and though I would 
always count myself unworthy of you, still I could 
show the whole world what the respect of my wife 
had made me worthy of .... ” 

Katerina Lvovna was dazed by Sergei’s words, 
by his jealousy, by his desire to marry her—a desire 
that is pleasing to every woman, no matter how 
intimate her relations have been with the man 







The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 79 


before marriage. Katerina Lvovna was ready to 
go through fire and water, to prison, or to the 
cross for Sergei. He had succeeded in making 
her so much in love with him, that there was no 
limit to her devotion. Her happiness made her 
mad, her blood boiled, and she could listen to noth¬ 
ing else. With a rapid motion she covered Sergei’s 
mouth with the palm of her hand, and pressing 
his head to her breast she began to speak. 

‘‘ Yes, I know how I can make you a merchant, 
and how I can live with you in quite the proper way. 
Only, you must not make me sad for nothing before 
our affairs are settled.” 

And again there were kisses and endearments. 

The old clerk, who was sleeping in the barn, 
heard in the stillness of the night through his sound 
sleep whispers and low laughter, as if some roguish 
children were plotting together how they could 
better deride decrepit old age ; or again, loud 
and gay laughter as if some one was tickling the 
water nymph of the lake. But it was only Katerina 
Lvovna who was gambolling and rolling about in 
the moonlight and who wantoned and played on 
the soft carpet with her husband’s young clerk. 
The blossoming apple trees shed their young petals 
over them, till at last they also ceased to fall. By 
that time the short summer night was passing away ; 
the moon hid behind the steep roof of the granary 







8o The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


and looked askance on the earth as it became 
dimmer and dimmer. From the roof of the kitchen 
a piercing cats’ duet resounded, and then after 
angry spittings and splutters, two or three dishev¬ 
elled cats rushed down a pile of boards that w^ere 
propped up against the roof. 

Let’s go to bed,” said Katerina Lvovna, rising 
slowly, as if exhausted, from the carpet, and 
just as she had been lying there, in her shift and 
white petticoats, she went across the quiet, the 
deadly quiet, merchant’s yard, while Sergei fol¬ 
lowed her carrying the carpet and her blouse, which 
she had thrown off in her frolics. 







VII 


K aterina LVOVNA had scarcely had time 
to blow out her candle and to lie down on 
the soft feather-bed quite undressed, be¬ 
fore sleep overpowered her. She was so tired after 
playing and diverting herself that she slept soundly ; 
even her legs and arms slept ; but again, as if in a 
dream, she heard the door open, and again the cat 
jumped with great agility on to the bed. 

Really it is a punishment to have this cat al¬ 
ways here,” reflected Katerina Lvovna wearily. 

I locked the door on purpose with my own hands, 
the window is shut too and here he is again. I 
will turn him out directly,” said Katerina Lvovna, 
trying to get up, but her sleepy arms and legs 
would not obey her, and the cat crept over her and 
mewed so strangely, that it sounded again as if 
it was uttering human speech. A cold shiver 
passed over Katerina Lvovna’s whole body. 

No,” thought she, there is nothing else to be 
done ; to-morrow I must certainly get some con¬ 
secrated water and sprinkle the bed with it, because 
this is a most mysterious cat that is always coming 


to me. 


j) 


8i 





82 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


But the cat purred and mewed close to her ear, 
stuck its muzzle into it, and said : 

What sort of a cat am I ? Why should I be a 
cat ? You, Katerina Lvovna, very wisely think 
that I am not a cat. I am really the well-known 
merchant Boris Timofeich. I am only feeling bad 
now, because all my inside has been split owing 
to the treat my daughter-in-law gave me. That 
is why 1 mew ; I have grown small in size, and 
appear like a cat to those wLo little think who I 
really am. How are you, Katerina Lvovna, and 
what sort of a life are you living with us ? How 
faithfully do you keep your vow ? I have come from 
the churchyard on purpose to see how you and 
Sergei Filipych are warming your husband’s bed. 
It’s all dark, you can play about, I see nothing. 
Don’t be afraid of me. You see your treat has 
made my eyes rot away. Look at my eyes, my 
little friend, don’t be afraid.” 

Katerina Lvovna glanced at him, and shrieked at 
the top of her voice. Between her and Sergei the 
cat was lying and its head was the full-sized head 
of Boris Timofeich, just as he had been as a corpse, 
only instead of eyes fiery circles whirled round 
and round in every direction. 

Sergei awoke and comforted Katerina Lvovna, 
and again fell asleep ; but for her sleep had 
departed ; and it was well, too, that it had. 






The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 83 

She lay with open eyes, when suddenly she 
seemed to hear a sound as if someone had climbed 
over the gate and was in the yard. The dogs 
began to bark, but soon ceased—they were 
probably being fondled. Another minute passed 
and she heard the key turn in the iron lock, and 
the door open. Either I am dreaming or my 
Zinovey Borisych has returned, because the door 
has been opened with his latch-key,” thought 
Katerina Lvovna and hastily nudged Sergei. 

Listen, Serezha,” said she raising herself on 
her elbow and listening attentively. 

Some one was really coming up the stairs, care¬ 
fully placing his feet on the steps and approaching 
the locked door of the bedroom. 

Katerina Lvovna hurriedly sprang out of bed 
in only her nightdress and opened the window. 
At the same moment Sergei bare-footed jumped 
out into the gallery, and his legs clasped the column 
by which he had many times descended from the 
mistress’s bedroom. 

No, don’t, don’t. Lie down here, don’t go 
far,” whispered Katerina Lvovna, throwing his 
boots and clothes to him out of the window, and 
then slipped under the bed-clothes again and waited. 

Sergei obeyed Katerina Lvovna ; he did not 
slide down the column but hid under a shelf in the 
gallery. 










84 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


Meanwhile Katerina Lvovna heard her husband 
come to the door and listen, holding his breath. 
She could even hear the rapid beating of his jealous 
heart ; but she had no sorrow for him, only an 
evil laugh seized her. 

What’s done can’t be undone,” she thought 
smiling and breathing like an innocent child. 

This lasted for about ten minutes, but at last 
Zinovey Borisych got tired of standing on the other 
side of the door listening to his wife’s breathing 
in her sleep, so he knocked. 

“ Who is there ? ” called Katerina Lvovna 
after a little time, feigning a sleepy voice. 

A friend,” answered Zinovey Borisych. 

Is it you, Zinovey Borisych ? ” 

“ Of course it’s I—as if you don’t hear ? ” 

Katerina Lvovna jumped out of bed, and in her 
shift just as she was, let her husband in and again 
dived into the warm bed. 

‘‘ It somehow gets cold before dawn,” said she 
wrapping herself up in the quilt. 

Zinovey Borisych came in, looked round, said a 
prayer, lit a candle, and again looked round. 

How are you getting on ? ” he asked his 
wife. 

“ All right,” answered Katerina Lvovna, and 
sitting up she began putting on a loose cotton 
blouse. 








The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 85 


‘‘ I’m sure you’d like me to put on the samovar ? ” 
she asked. 

“ Oh, don’t bother ; call Aksinia, and let her 
do it.” 

Katerina Lvovna slipped her feet into her shoes 
and ran out of the room. It was more than half 
an hour before the returned. During that time 
she had blown the charcoal into a glow in the 
samovar and had quickly fluttered up to Sergei 
in the gallery. 

Remain here,” she whispered. 

“ How long ? ” asked Sergei also in a whisper. 

Oh, how stupid you are ! Stay here, till I 
call you.” 

And Katerina Lvovna hid him again in the same 
place. 

From where he was in the gallery Sergei could 
hear everything that happened in the bedroom. 
He heard the door slam when Katerina Lvovna 
again went back to her husband. He could hear 
every word that was said. 

What have you been doing all this time,” 
Zinovey Boirsych asked his wife. 

‘‘ I have been getting the samovar to boil,” 
she answered quietly. 

There was a pause. Sergei could hear Zinovey 
Borisych hang his coat on the pegs. Then he 
washed, snorting and splashing the water about ; 







86 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

he asked for a towel and they again began to 
talk. 

Well, how did you come to bury father ? ’’ 
inquired her husband. 

“ He just died and was buried,” answered his 
wife. 

What a strange thing it was ! ” 

God only knows,” answered Katerina Lvovna, 
and began to rattle the cups. 

Zinovey Borisych walked about the room 
gloomily. 

‘‘ Well, and you ? How have you passed your 
time ? ” Zinovey Borisych asked his wife. 

Our pleasures are known to everybody. We 
don’t go to balls, nor to theatres either.” 

It appears you are not very pleased to see 
your husband,” observed Zinovey Borisych giving 
her a sudden glance. 

“ We are not such young things, you and I, that 
we should go out of our senses when w^e meet. 
How am I to show my delight Here am I, fussing 
and running about to please you.” 

Katerina Lvovna again went out of the room 
to fetch the samovar, and again had time to run 
up to Sergei, nudge him, and whisper : 

Don’t doze, Sergei, be ready.” 

Sergei could not understand to what all this 
was to lead ; but he waited ready to be called. 





The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 87 


When Katerina Lvovna returned to the room 
Zinovey Borisych was kneeling on the bed, hang¬ 
ing his silver watch and beadwork chain on the 
wall at the head of the bed. 

Katerina Lvovna, why have you made the bed 
for two when you were alone ? ” He asked his 
wife suddenly as if surprised. 

I was always expecting you,” Katerina Lvovna 
answered calmly, looking at him. 

“ Even for that we must thank you humbly. 
But how did this thing happen to be lying on the 
feather-bed ? ” 

Zinovey Borisych lifted Sergei’s narrow woollen 
girdle from the sheet and held it up by the end 
before his wife’s eyes. 

Katerina Lvovna answered without hesitation ; 

‘‘ I found it in the garden, and tied my petti¬ 
coat up with it.” 

Yes ! ” said Zinovey Borisych with special 
emphasis, ‘‘ we have also heard something about 
your petticoats.” 

What have you heard about them ? ” 

About all the fine things you have done.” 

I have done no fine things.” 

Well, we shall soon find that out ; we shall 
find out everything,” answered Zinovey Borisych, 
pushing his empty cup towards his wife. 

Katerina Lvovna remained silent. 









88 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


“ We shall bring all your actions to the light, 
Katerina Lvovna,” said Zinovey Borisych after a 
long pause, frowning at her. 

Your Katerina Lvovna is not easily frightened ; 
she is not much afraid of that,” she answered. 

‘‘ What’s all this ? ” cried Zinovey Borisych 
raising his voice. 

‘‘ Nothing—it’s all over,” answered his wife. 

Well—you just take care, you’re getting too 
talkative ! ” 

Why can’t I talk ? ” exclaimed Katerina 
Lvovna. 

“ You ought to have been more cautious.” 

I have nothing to be cautious about. Much I 
care for what long-tongued vipers may have told 
you. Am I to put up with all sorts of abuse ? 
That’s something new.” 

“ There are no long tongues ; but they know all 
about your amours.” 

About which of my amours ? ” cried Katerina 
Lvovna, getting angry in earnest. 

I know very well which.” 

‘‘ If you know, what then ? You’d better be a 
little more explicit ! ” 

Zinovey Borisych was silent and again pushed 
his cup towards her. 

Apparently you have nothing to say,” cried 
Katerina Lvovna with contempt angrily throwing 








The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 89 

a tea spoon on her husband’s saucer. Well, can’t 
you say who has been accused ? Who in your eyes 
is my lover ? ” 

‘‘ You will hear ; no need to hurry so.” 

“ Is it about Sergei, perhaps, that they have 
been lying to you ? ” 

We shall find out, we shall find out, Katerina 
Lvovna ; nobody can take away our authority 
over you, and nobody has a right to do so ... . 
You yourself will tell us. . . . ” 

Oh, I can’t bear it,” cried Katerina Lvovna, 
grinding her teeth, and getting as white as a sheet 
she suddenly ran out of the room. 

‘‘ Well, there he is,” said she a few seconds later 
re-entering the room and leading Sergei by the 
sleeve. ‘‘ Now you can question him and me too 
about what you know. Perhaps you will hear 
even more than you want to.” 

Zinovey Borisych became confused. Looking 
from Sergei, who stood near the door, to his wife, 
who had calmly sat down on the edge of the bed 
and folded her arms, he could not understand 
where all this was leading. 

What are you doing, you snake ? ” He was 
scarcely able to utter and did not rise from his arm¬ 
chair. 

‘‘ Question us about what you pretend to know 
so well,” Katerina Lvovna answered audaciously. 






90 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

You thought to frighten me with your power,” 
continued she significantly flashing her eyes on him ; 
‘‘ that will never happen ; but what I know I 
would do to you, perhaps even before your threats, 
that I will do.” 

What does this mean ? Get out ! ” Zinovey 
Borisych shouted at Sergei. 

‘‘ Make him,” said Katerina Lvovna with a 
sneer. 

She went quietly to the door, locked it, and 
putting the key in her pocket lolled again on the 
bed. 

Now then Serezhenka come, come here, my 
darling,” she said, coaxing the clerk towards her. 

Sergei shook his curls and boldly sat down near 
the mistress. 

“ Good Lord ! My God ! what is this ? What 
are you doing, you savages,” cried Zinovey Borisych 
getting livid and rising from his chair. 

‘‘ What ? Don’t you like it ? See here, see here ; 
my bright-eyed falcon, isn’t he a beauty ? ” 

Katerina Lvovna laughed and kissed Sergei 
passionately before her husband’s eyes. 

At that moment she received a deafening blow 
on her cheek, and Zinovey Borisych hurried to 
the open window. 






VIII 

‘‘ H, so that’s it ! Well, my dear friend, 

B m thank you. I was only waiting for 
this,” cried Katerina Lvovna. “ Now 
one can see it will be neither your way nor my 
way.” 

With a sharp movement she threw Sergei from 
her and pounced on her husband from behind, 
and before Zinovey Borisych had time to reach 
the window, she had seized his throat with her 
thin fingers, and had thrown him on the floor like 
a sheaf of damp hemp. 

Falling heavily Zinovey Borisych struck the 
back of his head against the floor with such force 
that he was quite dazed. He had not expected 
such a quick ending. This first act of violence 
that his wife had used against him proved to him 
that she was prepared for anything if she could 
only free herself from him, and that his present 
position was one of great danger. Zinovey 
Borisych realized this in an instant, at the moment 
of his fall, and did not cry out, knowing that his 
voice could not reach anybody’s ears and might 

91 






92 The Lady Macheih of the Mzinsk District 


only hasten the end. He looked round in silence, 
and with an expression of wrath, reproach and 
suffering, his eyes rested on his wife, whose thin 
fingers were tightly squeezing his throat. 

Zinovey Borisych did not defend himself ; his 
arms, with tightly clenched fists, lay stretched 
out jerking spasmodically ; one of them was quite 
free ; the other Katerina Lvovna pressed to the 
floor with her knee. 

Hold him,” she whispered to Sergei in an in¬ 
different voice and again turned to her husband. 

Sergei sat down on the master, pressing his two 
arms down with his knees, and tried to seize him 
by the throat under Katerina Lvovna’s hands, 
but at the same moment he uttered a cry of des¬ 
pair. The sight of the man who had wronged him, 
and the desire for bloody revenge aroused in 
Zinovey Borisych all his remaining strength, and 
with a violent effort he was able to free his im¬ 
prisoned arms from the weight of Sergei’s knees, 
and seizing hold of Sergei’s black locks he bit at 
his throat like a wild beast. But it was not for 
long ; Zinovey Borisych groaned heavily and his 
head fell back. 

Katerina Lvovna, pale and hardly breathing, 
stood over her husband and lover ; in her right 
hand she had a heavy metal candlestick, which she 
was holding by the top with the heavy part down- 










The Lady Macheth of the Mzinsk District 93 

wards. A thin stream of red blood trickled down 
Zinovey Borisych’s temple and cheek. 

A priest ...” Zinovey Borisych groaned 
hoarsely, and with loathing drew his head away 
as far as he could from Sergei, who was still sitting 
on him, “ ... to confess,” he uttered still less 
distinctly, shivering and looking sideways at the 
hot blood that was thickening under his hair. 

You’re good enough without that,” murmured 
Katerina Lvovna. 

Enough trifling with him,” she said to Sergei, 
“ catch hold of his throat properly.” 

Zinovey Borisych gasped. 

Katerina Lvovna stooped down and pressing 
her own hands over Sergei’s, that were tightly 
clasped round her husband’s throat, put her ear 
to his breast. After five quiet minutes she got 
up and said : Enough ; that will do for him.” 

Sergei also rose and took a long breath. 
Zinovey Borisych lay dead—strangled—and with 
a cut on his temple. Under his head on the left 
side was a little pool of blood, which, however, now 
flowed no longer from the small wound that had 
become clotted and congealed with hair. 

Sergei carried Zinovey Borisych into the cellar 
under the floor of the little stone store-room, 
where he himself had so recently been locked up 
by the late Boris Timofeich, and then returned to 





94 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

the attic. During this time Katerina Lvovna, 
with the sleeves of her loose jacket tucked up, and 
her skirts well lifted, had carefully washed away 
with bast and soap the blood stain left by Zinovey 
Borisych on the floor of his bedroom. The water 
had as yet not cooled in the samovar, out of which 
Zinovey Borisych, then master of the house, had 
been comforting his soul with poisoned tea, so the 
spot could be washed away without leaving any 
traces. 

Katerina Lvovna took a brass slop-basin, and 
a piece of soaped bast. 

Now give me a light,” she said to Sergei, going 
towards the door. Lower, throw the light lower,” 
said she, carefully examining all the floors over 
which Sergei had dragged Zinovey Borisych on the 
way to the cellar. 

Only in two places on the painted floors there 
were two tiny spots the size of a cherry. Katerina 
Lvovna rubbed them with the bast and they 
disappeared. 

That will teach you not to steal on your wife 
like a thief and watch her,” said Katerina Lvovna 
straightening herself and looking towards the 
store-house. 

Now it’s all over,” said Sergei and shuddered 
at the sound of his own voice. 

When they returned to the bedroom a thin red 





The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 95 


streak of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, and 
the apple trees, faintly tinted with gold, looked 
through the green fence of the garden into Katerina 
Lvovna’s room. 

The old clerk, with a short fur coat thrown over 
his shoulders, yawning and crossing himself, crept 
across the yard from the barn to the kitchen. 

Katerina Lvovna pulled the shutters carefully 
up by their strings, and attentively looked at Sergie 
as if she wanted to read his soul. 

‘‘ Well, now you are a merchant,” said she 
placing her white hands on Sergei’s shoulders. 

Sergei did not answer her. 

Sergei’s lips trembled and he shook all over as 
if with ague. Only Katerina Lvovna’s lips were 
cold. 

After two days large blisters caused by the use 
of a heavy spade and crow-bar appeared on Sergei’s 
hands ; but, because of them, Zinovey Borisych 
was so well stowed away in his cellar, that without 
the aid of his widow or her lover nobody could have 
found him till the day of the Last Judgment. 









IX 


S ERGEI went about with a crimson hand¬ 
kerchief round his neck, and complained 
that something was sticking in his throat. 
Even before the marks left on Sergei’s throat by 
Zinovey Borisych’s teeth had healed, people began 
to wonder about Katerina Lvovna’s husband. 
Sergei himself began to talk about him oftener than 
anyone else. Of an evening he would come and 
sit down on the bench near the gate with the other 
young fellows and begin ; ‘‘ It is strange, comrades, 
that the master has not returned yet.” 

The other young fellows were also surprised. 
Then the news was brought from the mill that 
the master had hired horses, and had long ago 
started for home. The postilion who had driven 
him related that Zinovey Borisych had appeared 
to be put out, and had dismissed him in a strange 
manner ; about three versts from the town near 
the monastery he had got out of the cart, taken 
his bag, and walked away. Hearing this strange 
story people began to wonder still more. 

Zinovey Borisych was lost, that was all. 

96 












The Lady Maoheth of the Mzinsk District 97 


Search was made for him, but nothing could be 
discovered ; it was as if the merchant had vanished 
off the face of the earth. By the evidence of the 
postilion, who had been arrested, it was only known 
that he had left the cart near the river which passed 
by the monastery. The matter was not cleared 
up, and in the meantime Katerina Lvovna in her 
widowed state was able to live more freely with 
Sergei. They invented stories that Zinovey 
Borisych had been seen first in one place then in 
another, but Zinovey Borisych still did not come 
back and Katerina Lvovna knew better than any¬ 
one that it was quite impossible for him to return. 

In this way one month passed and another and 
a third and Katerina Lvovna felt herself with 
child. 

The capital will be ours, Serezhechka. I shall 
have an heir,” she said to Sergei, and went to the 
town council to tell them that she was pregnant ; 
to complain that a stoppage in the business had 
occurred and to ask to be allowed to carry it on. 

Why should a commercial undertaking be ruined ? 
Katerina Lvovna was the lawful wife of her husband, 
there were apparently no debts, so that she ought 
to be allowed to carry it on. And she was allowed. 

Katerina Lvovna lived and reigned and by her 
orders Sergei was addressed as Sergei Filipych. 
Then suddenly quite unexpectedly there was a 

E 










98 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


new disaster. A letter came from liven to the 
mayor of the town, informing him that Boris 
Timofeich had traded not only with his own money, 
but that a great part of the capital in the business 
belonged to his nephew Fedor Zakharov Lyamin, 
a minor, and that the business must be looked 
into and not left entirely in Katerina Lvovna’s 
hands. When this news arrived the mayor spoke 
about it to Katerina Lvovna, and suddenly a 

week later—behold an old woman and a small bov 

# 

arrived from Liven. 

“ I am the late Boris Timofeich’s cousin,” said 
she, “ and this is my nephew, Fedor Lyamdn.” 

Katerina Lvovna received them. 

Sergei, who watched this arrival from the yard 
and the reception Katerina Lvovna gave them, 
became as white as an altar-cloth. 

‘‘ What is the matter with you ? ” asked the 
mistress noticing his deadly pallor, as he followed 
the visitors and remained in the passage watching 
them. 

‘‘ Nothing,” answered the clerk turning round 
and going from the passage into the entrance. I 
was thinking what a surprise these people from 
Liven are,” he said with a sigh as he closed the 
door of the entrance after him. 

“ Well, how will it be now ? ” Sergei asked 
Katerina Lvovna as they sat together that night 







The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 99 

drinking tea. '' Now, Katerina Lvovna, all our 
affairs will turn to ashes.” 

Why to ashes, Serezha ? ” 

Because it will all be divided now. What 
use will it be to carry on a trifling business ? ” 
“ What, Serezha, will it be too little for you ? ” 
No, it’s not about myself I’m thinking. I’m 
just wondering if we shall have the same happiness.” 

How so ? Why should we not have happiness, 
Serezha ? ” 

Because I love you so much that I want, 
Katerina Lvovna, to see you a real lady, and not 
as you have lived so far,” answered Sergei Filipich, 
and now it will be just the contrary ; with the 
decrease of the capital we will have to sink even 
lower than before.” 

What do I care, Serezha t ” 

“ It may be true, Katerina Lvovna, that perhaps 
for you it has no interest, but for me, because I 
respect you, and also to the eyes of the world, 
mean and envious though they are, it will be ter¬ 
ribly painful. You can feel, of course, as you like, 
but I in my judgment can see that, under these 
circumstances, I can never be happy.” 

Sergei began to play upon Katerina Lvovna to 
this tune ; that through Fedia Lyamin he had 
become the most unhappy man, being deprived in 
future of the power to exalt and distinguish her. 







100 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


Katerina Lvovna, in the eyes of all the merchants. 
Every time Sergei brought it to the same conclusion : 
that if this Fedia did not exist and she gave birth 
to a child, before the end of nine months after the 
disappearance of her husband, the whole property 
would belong to her and that then there would be no 
end to their happiness. 










X 


t I ’^HEN Sergei suddenly stopped talking about 
I the heir. As soon as Sergei ceased talk- 
^ ing about him, Katerina Lvovna could 
not get Fedia Lyamin out of her mind or her heart. 
She became pensive and even less loving to Sergei. 
When she was asleep, when she was looking after 
the business, or when she was praying to God, 
she had but one thought in her mind : “ Why is 
it so ? Why indeed should I lose the capital through 
him ? I have suffered so much, I have taken so 
much sin on my soul,” thought Katerina Lvovna, 
and he comes here without any trouble and takes 
it away from me. If at least he were a man, but 
this child—this boy . . . . ” 

The early frosts were setting in. Of course no 
news of Zinovey Borisych came from anywhere. 
Katerina Lvovna became bigger and went about 
always more pensive. In the town there was 
much gossip about her. They wondered why the 
young Izmaylova, who had so far been barren, 
and had always grown thin and pined away, now 
suddenly began to grow larger. All this time the 

loi 






102 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

boyish heir Fedia Lyamin wandered about the yard 
in his light, white squirrel fur coat, and broke the 
cat-ice on the puddles. 

What are you doing there, Fedor Ignatich ? ” 
cried the cook Aksinia to him, as she ran across the 
yard. ‘‘ Is it fit for you, a merchant’s son, to 
poke about in the puddles ? ” 

But the heir, who was such a trouble to Katerina 
Lvovna and to the object of her affections, only 
frolicked about light-heartedly like a young kid, 
or slept tranquilly opposite his fond great-aunt, 
not thinking or realizing that he stood in anybody’s 
way or had diminished anybody’s happiness. 

At last Fedia caught the chicken-pox, and be¬ 
sides had a bad cold and pain in the chest, so the 
boy was put to bed. At first he was treated with 
herbs and simples, but at last a doctor had to be 
sent for. 

The doctor came frequently and prescribed 
medicines, which were to be given to him at cer¬ 
tain hours by his grand-aunt ; or sometimes she 
asked Katerina Lvovna to do it. 

“ Please, Katerinushka,” she would say, you 
yourself will soon be a mother, you are awaiting 
the will of God, be so good . . . . ” 

Katerina Lvovna never refused the old woman. 
Whenever she went to the evening service to pray 
for the lad Fedor lying on the bed of sickness,” 





The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 103 


or whenever she went to the early liturgy to get 
him consecrated bread, Katerina Lvovna would 
sit by the invalid, give him cooling drinks and 
administer his medicine at the proper time. 

So the old woman went to the evening service 
and to vespers on the eve of the Presentation of the 
Blessed Virgin, and begged Katerinushka to look 
after Fedyushka. At that time the boy was already 
recovering. 

Katerina Lvovna came into Fedia’s room. He 
was sitting up in bed in his squirrel coat, reading 
the Lives of the Fathers. ” 

‘‘ What are you reading, Fedia ? ” Katerina 
Lvovna asked, as she sat down in an arm chair. 
I’m reading the ‘ Lives,’ auntie.” 

‘‘ Are they interesting ? ” 

Very interesting, auntie.” 

Katerina Lvovna leaned on her hand and watched 
Fedia’s moving lips, when suddenly she was seized, 
as by demons escaped from their chains, by her 
former thoughts of all the evil that this boy had 
caused her, and what a good thing it would be if 
he were not there. 

‘‘ Well, what then ? ” thought Katerina Lvovna, 
‘‘ he is ill, he has to take medicine ... all sorts 
of things can happen dujing illness. . . . One has 
but to say that the doctor made a mistake with the 
medicine.” 







104 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


“ It’s time for vour medicine, Fedia.” 

Perhaps, auntie,” answered the boy, and 
emptying the spoon he added, Auntie, these 
stories of the saints are very interesting.” 

Well, go on reading,” Katerina Lvovna con¬ 
tinued and casting her eyes round the room with 
a cold glance, let them rest on the frost-covered 
windows. 

I must order the shutters to be closed,” said 
she going into the sitting-room, and thence into 
the hall, and then upstairs into her own room 
where she sat down. 

Five minutes later Sergei, in a Romanov short 
fur coat trimmed with thick seal skin, joined her 
there. 

“ Have they closed the shutters ? ” Katerina 
Lvovna asked him. 

They have closed them,” answered Sergei, 
snuffing the candles with the snuffers, and stopped 
near the stove. 

They were both silent. 

Vespers will not be finished soon to-day ? ” 
asked Katrina Lvovna. 

“ To-morrow is a big festival; the service will 
be long,” answered Sergei. 

There was again silence. 

‘‘ I’d better go to Fedia ; he is alone,” said 
Katerina Lvovna, rising. 











The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 105 


‘‘ Alone ? ” asked Sergei, looking at her askance. 

Alone,” she answered in a whisper, what 
then ? ” 

Their eyes seemed to flash lightning glances to 
each other, but neither said a word. 

Katerina Lvovna went down, and passed through 
the empty rooms ; it was quiet everywhere ; 
the lamps glimmered quietly before the icons ; 
only her own shadow ran along the walls ; the 
closed shutters had made the windows thaw, and 
the water was dripping from them. Fedia was 
sitting reading. When he saw Katerina Lvovna 
he only said : 

Auntie, put this book away, please, and give 
me that other one from the icon shelf.” 

Katerina Lvovna did what her nephew asked, 
and gave him the other book. 

Fedia, don’t you want to go to sleep ? ” 

No, auntie, I want to wait for Granny.” 

Why should you wait for her ? ” 

She promised to bring me a consecrated loaf 
from Vespers.” ' 

Katerina Lvovna suddenly became pale ; her 
own child had moved under her heart, for the 
first time and a cold feeling passed over her breast. 
She stood for a time in the middle of the room, and 
then went out rubbing her cold hands. 

Well,” she whispered, quietly entering her 








io6 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


bedroom, where she,found Sergei still in the same 

position near the stove. 

What ? ” asked Sergei scarcely audibly, as if 

choking. 

He’s alone 1 ” 

Sergei frowned and began to breathe heavily. 
Come,” said Katerina Lvovna, suddenly turn¬ 
ing to the door. 

Sergei hastily took off his boots and asked : 
What shall we take ? ” 

Nothing,” answered Katerina Lvovna under 
her breath, and quietly taking him by the hand 
she drew him after her. 









XI 

T he sick boy shuddered and dropped the 
book on his knees, when Katerina Lvovna 
entered his room for the third time. 
What is it, Fedia ? ” 

Oh, auntie, something frightened me,’’ 
answered he, with a troubled smile, and cowered 
into a corner of the bed. 

What frightened you ? ” 

Who came with you, auntie ? ” 

‘‘ Where ? Nobody came with me, darling.” 
Nobody ? ” 

The boy stretched himself towards the foot of 
the bed, and screwing up his eyes looked towards 
the door through which his aunt had entered, and 
seemed to be re-assured. 

I must have imagined it,” said he. 

Katerina Lvovna stopped and leaned against 
the head of her nephew’s bed. 

Fedia looked up at his aunt, and remarked to 
her that she had for some reason grown quite 
pale. 

In answer to this observation, Katerina Lvovna 
only pretended to cough, and looked expectantly 

107 





io8 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

at the sitting-room door. But only the floor 
creaked slightly there. 

I am reading the life of my guardian angel, 
Saint Theodor Stratelates, auntie. How well 
he served God. ” 

Katerina Lvovna stood there silent. 

Auntie, won’t you sit down and let me read 
it to you again,” said her nephew coaxingly. 

“ Wait a moment—directly. I must just trim 
the icon lamp in the drawing-room,” answered 
Katerina Lvovna, and left the room with hasty 
steps. 

In the drawing-room the very faintest whispers 
could be heard, but, in the general silence, they 
reached the sharp ears of the child. 

‘‘ Auntie, what is this ? With whom are you 
whispering there ? ” cried the boy, with tears in 
his voice. Come here, auntie, I am afraid,” 
he cried again a second later, even more tearfully 
and he heard Katerina Lvovna say in the drawing¬ 
room Well ! ” which he thought was addressed 
to him. 

‘‘ What are you afraid of ? ” asked Katerina 
Lvovna, in a somewhat hoarse voice, as she came 
into the room with a firm, decided step, and stopped 
before his bed in such a position that the door 
to the drawing-room was hidden from the invalid 
by her body. Then she said, Lie down ! ” 









The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 109 

“ I don’t want to, auntie.” 

“ No, Fedia, listen to me and lie down ; it is 
time to lie down,” Katerina Lvovna repeated. 
Why, auntie ? I don’t at all want to.” 

‘‘ No, you must lie down ; lie down at once,” 
said Katerina Lvovna, in a changed shaky voice 
and seizing the boy under the arms, she put his 
head on the pillow. 

At that moment Fedia shrieked with fear; 
he had perceived Sergei pale and barefooted 
entering the room. 

Katerina Lvovna placed the palm of her hand 
over the frightened child’s open mouth and cried : 

Quickly now; hold him tight ; keep him 
from struggling.” 

Sergei seized Fedia by the arms and legs, and 
Katerina Lvovna with one rapid movement covered 
the childish face of the victim with a large down 
pillow and threw herself on it with her firm elastic 
bosom. 

For four minutes there was the silence of the 
grave in the room. ' 

He’s dead,” whispered Katerina Lvovna, 
and had only just risen to put everything in order 
again, when the walls of the quiet house, that had 
concealed so many crimes, were shaken by deaf¬ 
ening blows : the windows rattled, the floors 
shook, the chairs of the hanging icon lamps 






no The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


trembled and fantastic shadows flitted around 
the walls. 

Sergei shuddered and ran off as fast as his legs 
would carry him. Katerina Lvovna followed him, 
and the noise and hubbub pursued them. It 
seemed as if some unearthly power was shaking 
the guilty house to its foundations. 

Katerina Lvovna was afraid that Sergei, in his 
fear, would run into the yard and betray himself 
but he rushed straight to the attic. 

In the darkness at the top of the stairs Sergei 
struck his forehead against the half-opened door 
and with a groan fell down, completely losing his 
senses from superstitious fear. 

‘‘ Zinovey Borisych, Zinovey Borisych,” he 
mumbled as he fell down the stairs head foremost, 
knocking Katerina Lvovna off her feet and carrying 
her with him in his fall. 

Where ? ” asked she. 

There, above us ; he flew past with a sheet of 
iron. There, there again. Oh, oh ! ” cried Sergei, 
‘‘ it thunders, it thunders again.’’ 

It was quite plain now that in the street number¬ 
less hands were knocking at all the windows, and 
someone was trying to break in the door. 

You fool—get up, you fool,” cried Katerina 
Lvovna, and with these words she hastened to 
Fedia, settled his dead head on the pillow in the 











The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District iii 


most natural sleeping position, and with a firm 
hand opened the door, through which a crowd of 
people streamed into the house. 

It was a terrible sight. Katerina Lvovna, 
looking out over the heads of the crowd that was 
besieging the porch, saw streams of strange people 
climbing over the high wooden fence into the yard, 
and heard the moaning of many human voices in 
the street. 

Before Katerina Lvovna was able to understand 
anything, she was crushed back into the room by 
the crowd that surrounded the porch. 





XII 


A ll this alarm had been caused in this way. 

At Vespers on the eve of one of the twelve 
great festivals, there are always immense 
crowds in the churches of the provincial but im¬ 
portant industrial town in which Katerina Lvovna 
lived, and in the church that was celebrating 
its special festival such numbers of people would 
collect that not even an apple could have fallen 
to the ground. It was the custom for choirs, 
composed of young men belonging to the merchant 
classes, led by a special precentor, also a lover of 
the vocal art, to sing in the church on such occasions. 

Our people are godly, assiduous churchgoers, 
and artistic as well. Ecclesiastical magnificence 
and harmonious singing constitute one of their 
chief and purest enjoyments. Wherever the choirs 
sing, nearly half the town assembles to hear them, 
especially the youth of the merchant classes : the 
clerks, the boys, the youths, the hands from the 
factories and workshops, and even the manufac¬ 
turers themselves with their better halves ; all 
crowd together in the same church ; everybody 


II2 








The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 113 

wants to be there if only in the porch, or under the 
windows, despite burning heat or hard frost, to 
hear how the octaves swell, or the powerful tenor 
executes the most difficult variations. 

The parish church of the Izmailov family was 
consecrated in honour of the Presentation in the 
Temple of the Blessed Virgin, and therefore on the 
eve of that festival, at the time that the events 
just related occurred, the youth of the whole town 
was collected there, and they left the church in a 
noisy crowd talking about the merits of a well- 
known tenor, and the accidental blunders of a 
no less celebrated bass. 

Not all were occupied with these musical ques¬ 
tions ; there were some people in the crowd who 
interested themselves in other subjects. 

Yes, boys, fine things are related about that 
young Izmailova,” said a young mechanic, who 
had been brought from Petersburg by one of the 
merchants for his steam factory, they say,” con¬ 
tinued he, that she and their young clerk Sergei 
are making love every minute.” 

‘‘ Everybody knows that,” answered a man in a 
sheepskin coat covered with blue cloth. She 
was not in church this evening either.” 

Church indeed ? That wicked young woman 
is so odious, that she no longer fears God, nor her 
conscience, nor the eye of man.” 






114 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


See they have a light,” remarked the mechanic 
pointing to a bright stripe between the shutters. 

Look through the chink—see what they are 
doing,” called several voices. 

The mechanic climbed on to the shoulders of 
two of his companions, and had scarcely put his 
eye to the opening in the shutter when he shouted 
at the top of his voice. 

‘‘ Good people, brothers, they arc smothering 
somebody here, smothering somebody.” 

And the mechanic began desperately to knock 
at the shutters, a dozen others followed his example, 
and springing to the windows began hammering 
at them with their fists. 

The crowd increased in numbers every minute, 
and the Izmaylov’s house was beseiged as has been 
related. 

I myself saw it, I saw it with my own eyes,” 
the mechanic affirmed pointing to the dead body of 
Fedia. The boy was lying on his bed and they 
were both suffocating him.” 

Sergei was taken to the police station that same 
evening ; Katerina Lvovna was led to her upper 
room and two guards were stationed over her. 

It was unbearably cold in the Ismaylov’s house, 
the stoves were unheated ; the door did not remain 
closed for an instant ; great crowds of curious 
people followed on each other’s heels. All came 








The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 115 


to look at Fedia lying in his coffin and at another 
large coffin quite covered up to the lid with a wide 
shroud. On Fedia’s forehead was a white satin 
band which covered the red line that was left after 
the skull had been opened. The post-mortem 
examination proved that Fedia’s death had been 
caused by suffocation, and Sergei, when he was 
confronted with the corpse, began to cry at the 
first words of the priest who told him of the Last 
Judgment and of the punishment of the unrepent¬ 
ant, and candidly confessed not only the murder 
of Fedia, but also begged that Zinovey Borisych, 
who had been buried by him without a funeral 
service, should be disinterred. The corpse of 
Katerina Lvovna’s husband, that had been buried 
in dry sand, was as yet not entirely decomposed. 
It was taken out and laid in a large coffin. To the 
general horror Sergei said that his accomplice in 
both these cruel murders had been the young 
mistress. To all the questions put to her Katerina 
Lvovna only answered : I know nothing about 

this. I know nothing about it.” They obliged 
Sergei to give evidence before her. Having heard 
his confession, Katerina Lvovna looked at him 
with dumb astonishment but without anger, and 
then said unconcernedly : 

Since he wished to tell it, I have nothing to 
disavow. I killed them.” 






ii6 The Lady Macheth of the Mzinsk District 

‘‘ Why did you do it ? ” she was asked. 

‘‘ For him,” she answered pointing to Sergei, 
who hung his head. 

The criminals were taken to prison, and this 
terrible case, which had attracted general attention 
and indignation, soon came up for judgment. At 
the end of February Sergei and the widow of the 
third guild merchant, Katerina Lvovna, were con¬ 
demned to be flogged on the market-place of their 
town, and then to be sent to penal servitude. In 
the beginning of March, on a cold frosty morning 
the executioner inflicted the appointed number of 
blue-red lashes on Katerina Lvovna’s bare, white 
back and then also administered the allotted por¬ 
tion of strokes on Sergei’s shoulders, and branded 
his handsome face with the three marks of a convict. 

During the whole of this time, for some reason, 
Sergei aroused much more sympathy than Katerina 
Lvovna. Dirty and bloodstained he stumbled 
when he descended from the black scaffold, but 
Katerina Lvovna came down quietly, only taking 
care that the thick shift and coarse convict jacket 
should not come in contact with her lacerated back. 
Even in the prison hospital, when they handed her 
child to her she only said : “ What do I want with 
him 1 ” turned to the wall and without a groan, 
without a complaint, fell with her bosom on the 
hard pallet. 








XIII 


r I AHE gang of convicts with which Sergei and 
B Katerina Lvovna went started when the 
spring, according to the calendar, had 
begun, but the sun, as the popular saying is, shone 
brightly but did not warm.” 

Katerina Lvovna’s child w’as given to Boris 
Timofeich’s old cousin to be brought up, as the 
infant being considered the legitimate son of 
the criminal’s husband remained the sole heir to the 
whole of the Izmaylov’s property. Katrina Lvovna 
was very pleased at this, and gave up her baby with 
great indifference. Her love for the father, as is 
the case with many passionate women, was not 
transferred in the slightest degree to the child. 

Besides for her neither light nor darkness existed, 
neither goodness nor badness, neither sorrow nor 
joy ; she understood nothing, loved nobody, not 
even herself. She only awaited impatiently the 
departure of the gang of convicts, as she hoped 
on the way to see her Serezhenhka again, and she 
even forgot to think about the child. 

Katerina Lvovna’s hopes did not deceive her : 

117 








ti8 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


heavily fettered with chains and branded, Sergei 
passed through the prison gates with the party in 
which she was. 

Man is able to accommodate himself, as far as 
possible, to every horrible position in which he may 
find himself, and in every position he is able to 
retain the power of pursuing his own scanty pleas¬ 
ures ; but Katerina Lvovna had no need to adapt 
herself to circumstances ; she again saw Sergei, and 
with him even the convict’s path was bright with 
happiness for her. 

Katerina Lvovna took but few things of value 
with her in her linen sack, and even less money. 
But long before they reached Nizhni she had given 
all this to the guards who accompanied them, for 
the permission to walk next to Sergei on the way, 
or to be allowed to stand with him and embrace him 
for an hour on dark nights in a corner of the narrow 
corridor of the cold halting-stations. 

But Katerina Lvovna’s branded friend became 
very unaffectionate towards her ; every word he 
said to her was harsh ; he did not set much value 
on the secret meetings with her, for which she went 
without food and drink and gave away the most 
precious twenty-five copeck pieces out of her 
already lean purse, and more than once he 
said : 

Instead of paying the guard to come and rub 







The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 119 

against the corners of the corridor with me, you’d 
do better to give me the money.” 

‘‘ I only gave a quarter, Serezhenka,” said 
Katerina Lvovna in self defence. 

‘‘ Isn’t a quarter money ? How many quarters 
have you picked up on the way ? You’ve dis¬ 
tributed many apparently.” 

But, Serezha, we have seen each other.” 

Well, what good is that ? What sort of joy 
have we in meeting after all this suffering ? You 
ought to curse your life and not think of meetings.” 

“ It’s all the same to me, Serezha, if I can only 
see you.” 

That’s all nonsense,” answered Sergei. 

Sometimes Katerina Lvovna bit her lips to blood 
at such answers, and sometimes in the darkness 
of their nocturnal meetings tears of anger and 
vexation rose to her eyes, that had never wept 
before ; but she bore everything ; was always 
silent, and tried to deceive herself. 

In this manner, in these new relations to each 
other, they reached Nizhni Novgorod. There the 
party was joined by another detachment of con¬ 
victs, on their way to Siberia from the Moscow 
district. 

In this large gang, among a number of all sorts 
of people, there were in the women’s division two 
very interesting characters ; one was the wife of a 





120 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


soldier, Fiona, from Yaroslavl, a magnificently 
beautiful woman, tall, with a thick black plait and 
languid hazel eyes, over which the long lashes hung 
like a mysterious veil ; and the other a pretty girl 
of seventeen, with a sharp face, delicate skin, a tiny 
mouth, dimples in her fresh cheeks, and fair golden 
locks that capriciously peeped out on her forehead 
from beneath her striped convict kerchief. This 
girl was called by the others Sonetka. 

Fiona, the beauty, had a soft and lazy disposition. 
In her party all knew her and none of the men were 
specially delighted to have success with her, and 
none of them were mortified to see that she allowed 
the same favours to anybody else who tried for 
them. 

Aunt Fiona is the kindest of women, she never 
snubs anyone,” all the convicts said jestingly. 

But Sonetka was quite of another sort. 

They said about her : 

‘‘ She’s like an eel, she twirls round your hands, 
but you can never get hold of her.” 

Sonetka had her own taste, made her choice, and 
perhaps even a very severe choice ; she wanted 
a passion to be presented to her, not as an ordinary 
dish, but under a highly spiced sauce, with suffer¬ 
ings and sacrifices ; but Fiona had the simplicity 
of the Russian woman, who is even too lazy to say, 
‘‘ go away,” to anybody and only knows that she is 








The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District i2 T 

a woman. Such women are very highly prized in 
robber bands, gangs of convicts, and in the Peters¬ 
burg social-democratic communes. 

The appearance of these two women in the party 
which was now united with the gang in which 
Sergei and Katerina Lvovna were, had a very 
tragic result for the latter. 





XIV 


I N the first day’s march of the two united 
detachments from Nizhni to Kasan, Sergei 
began, in a very marked manner, to try to 
ingratiate himself into the favour of the soldier’s 
wife Fiona, and not without success. The languid 
beauty Fiona did not cause Sergei to want her long 
as, owing to her goodness, she never allowed anyone 
to pine for her. At the third or fourth station 
Katerina Lvovna had, by means of bribery, 
arranged a meeting with Sergei, and lay awake 
expecting the guard on duty to come up to her, 
nudge her and whisper quietly : Run quickly.” 
The door opened once and some woman ran into the 
corridor ; the door opened again and another 
convict jumped quickly from her pallet, and dis¬ 
appeared after the guard ; at last somebody pulled 
the jacket with which Katerina Lvovna was 
covered. The young woman sprang hurriedly from 
the boards, that many convicts had polished so well 
with their sides, threw her jacket over her shoulders, 
and nudged the guard who was standing near her. 

When Katerina Lvovna went along the dark 
corridor, which was lighted only in one place by a 


122 









The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 123 


tallow dip, she knocked up against two or three 
couples who could not be seen at a distance, and in 
passing the door of the men’s ward, she heard sup¬ 
pressed laughter that came through the little 
window cut in it. 

Eh, they’re having fun,” the guard who con¬ 
ducted Katerina Lvovna mumbled discontentedly, 
and taking her by the shoulders he pushed her into 
a corner and went away. 

Katerina Lvovna groping about felt a woman’s 
jacket and a beard ; her other hand touched a 
woman’s hot face. 

Who’s that ? ” Sergei asked in an undertone. 

‘‘ What are you doing here ? Who are you 
with ? ” 

Katerina Lvovna tore her rival’s handkerchief 
off. The latter ran away, and tripping over some 
one fell down. 

Hearty laughter resounded from the men’s ward. 

Villain,” hissed Katerina Lvovna and hit 
Sergei across the face with the end of the hand¬ 
kerchief she had torn from his new friend’s head. 

Sergei lifted his hand, but Katerina Lvovna 
slipped quickly away along the corridor, and 
regained her door. The laughter in the men’s ward 
became so loud that the sentry, who was standing 
apathetically near the dip, spitting at the toes of 
his boots, lifted his head and growled : 







124 Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


“ Hsss 1 ’’ 

Katerina Lvovna lay down in silence, and re¬ 
mained thus till morning. She wanted to say to 
herself ; ‘‘ I don’t love him,” and felt that she loved 
him more passionately than ever, and before her 
eyes she saw the whole time, how he lay there with 
one trembling hand under the other woman’s head 
and with the other embracing her hot shoulders. 

The poor woman wept and prayed against her 
wish that, the hand might be at that moment under 
her head, and that the other arm might be embrac¬ 
ing her own hysterically shaking shoulders. 

“ Well, in any case, give me my handkerchief,” 
said the soldier’s wife Fiona, the next morning 
arousing her. 

So it was you 1 ” 

Give it me, please.” 

Why do you part us ? ” 

‘‘ How do I part you ? As if this is love or 
interest ? Why do you get cross ? ” 

Katerina Lvovna thought for a moment, and 
then taking the torn handkerchief from under her 
pillow she threw it at Fiona, and turned to the wall. 

She felt better. 

Faugh ! ” she said to herself. ‘‘ Is it possible 
that I am jealous of this painted wash-tub ? The 
devil take her 1 To compare myself with her makes 
me sick.” 







The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 125 


Look here, Katerina Lvovna, just listen to me,” 
said Sergi the next day on the road. First under¬ 
stand, I beg you, that I am not your Zinovey 
Borisych, and secondly that you are no longer the 
great merchant’s wife. So don’t blaze up. These 
grand airs are no good now.” 

Katerina Lvovna did not answer, and for a week 
she went along without exchanging a word or a look 
with Sergei. As the injured party she showed 
character, and did not want to make the first step 
towards reconciliation in this, her first quarrel, with 
Sergei. 

In the meantime while Katerina Lvovna was 
cross with Sergei he began to talk nonsense and joke 
with fair little Sonetka. Sometimes he would bow 
to her and say : Our charmer,” or he would smile, 
or find an opportunity of meeting her, of embracing 
and pressing her to himself. Katerina Lvovna 
saw all this and her heart only boiled the more. 

‘‘ Should I get reconciled to him ? ” Katerina 
Lvovna thought as she staggered along, not seeing 
the ground under her feet. 

But now, more than ever, her pride would not 
allow her to take the first step towards reconcilia¬ 
tion. During this time Sergei became more and 
more intimate with Sonetka, and all began to 
whisper that the unapproachable Sonetka, who 
like an eel twirled round everybody’s hands without 












126 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


being caught, had somehow become much more 
tame. 

“ Do you sec that,” said Fiona to Katerina 
Lvovna, you cried about me. Now what have 
I done to you ? I had my chance, but it’s over. 
You’d better look to Sonetka.” 

‘‘ All my pride has deserted me, I must certainly 
be reconciled now,” Katerina Lvovna decided, only 
thinking what would be the best way to set about 
the reconciliation. 

Sergei himself helped her out of this difficult 
position. 

Lvovna,” he called to her during the rest, 

come to me for a minute this night ; I have some 
business for you.” 

Katerina Lvovna was silent. 

“ What, are you still cross ? Won’t you come ? ” 

Katerina Lvovna again made no answer. 

However, Sergei and all the others who watched 
Katerina Lvovna saw that when they were ap¬ 
proaching the halting-place she kept getting nearer 
to the guard, and shoved into his hand seventeen 
copecks, some alms she had received from the 
communes. 

As soon as I collect them I will give you ten 
copecks more,” begged Katerina Lvovna. 

The guard hid the money in his cuff and said : 

“ All right.” 







The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 127 

When these discussions were over Sergei grunted 
and winked at Sonetka. 

‘‘ Ah, my Katerina Lvovna,” said he, embracing 
her as he mounted the steps of the halting-station, 

there’s no woman like her in the whole world, 
comrades.” 

“ Katerina Lvovna blushed and became breath¬ 
less with happiness. 

At night, as soon as the door opened quietly, she 
jumped up ; trembling she groped for Sergei with 
her hands in the dark corridor. 

My Katia,” whispered Sergei embracing her. 

Oh, my own rascal,” answered Katerina 
Lvovna through her tears, pressing her lips to his. 

The guard walked about the corridor stopping 
to spit on his boots and went on again, the tired 
convicts snored on the other side of the doors, a 
mouse gnawed a feather under the stove, the 
crickets vied with each other in their loud chirps, 
and Katerina Lvovna still enjoyed her bliss. 

But ecstasies tire and the inevitable prose has 
its turn. 

I’m in deadly pain. Right from the ankle to 
the knee it gnaws my bones,” complained Sergei 
sitting with Katerina Lvovna on the floor in the 
corner of the corridor. 

What’s to be done, Serezhenka ? ” she asked, 
nestling under the skirts of his coat. 







128 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

“ All that remains to be done, is to ask to be put 

into hospital in Kasan.” 

‘‘ Oh I What do you mean, Serezha ? ” 

“ What can I do ? This pain will be my death.” 

“ How can you remain when I shall be driven 

on ? ” 

“ What’s to be done ? It rubs, I tell you it 
rubs ; the chain is eating into the bone. If I had 
woollen stockings to put on that might help,” said 
Sergei a minute later. 

‘‘ Stockings ? I still have some. New stock¬ 
ings, Sergei.” 

'' What of that ? ” answered Sergei. 

Without saying another word, Katerina Lvovna 
quickly vanished into the ward, rummaged in her 
bag on the boards and then hastily returned to 
Sergei with a pair of thick blue woollen stockings 

with bright red clocks at the sides. 

Now it will be all right,” said Sergei, taking 
leave of Katerina Lvovna and accepting her last 
stockings. 

Katerina Lvovna returned to her boards quite 
happy and was soon sound asleep. 

When she had returned to the corridor she had 
not noticed that Sonetka went out of the ward, nor 
had she heard her return just before morning. 

All this took place only two days’ march from 

Kasan. 














XV 

A COLD rainy day, with gusts of wind and 
sleet, inhospitably greeted the party of 
convicts when they left the stuffy halting- 
station. Katerina Lvovna came out fairly cheer¬ 
fully, but she had hardly taken her place in the row 
when she turned green and trembled all over. It 
grew black before her eyes, and all her joints ached 
and weakened. Sonetka stood before her in the 
well-known pair of blue woollen stockings with red 
clocks. 

Katerina I.vovna started on her way almost 
lifeless ; only her eyes w'ere fixed with a terrible 
look on Sergei, and she never took them off him. 

At the first halt she quietly went up to Sergei, 
whispered Scoundrel,” and quite unexpectedly 
spat in his face. 

Sergei wanted to fall upon her, but the others 
held him back. 

“ Just you wait,” said he wiping himself. 

‘‘ All the same she treats you audaciously,” 
jeered the other convicts, and Sonetka greeted him 
with specially gay laughter. 

129 


F 











130 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

This intrigue into which Sonetka had entered 
was quite to her taste. 

‘‘ This is not the last you will hear of it/’ Sergei 

threatened Katerina Lvovna. 

Worn out by the long distance and the bad 
weather, Katerina Lvovna with a broken heart 
slept restlessly on the hard boards at night in the 
halting-station and did not hear two men come 
into the women’s ward. 

When they entered Sonetka sat up on her 
pallet and silently pointed to Katerina Lvovna, 
lay down again, and covered herself up with her 

coat. 

At that moment Katerina Lvovna’s coat was 
thrown over her head, and the thick end of a 
double-twisted cord was swung with all the strength 
of a peasant’s arm across her back, which was only 

covered by a coarse shift. 

Katerina Lvovna shrieked but her voice could 
not be heard under the coat in which her head was 
wrapt up. She struggled, but also without success, 
as a burly convict was sitting on her shoulders 
holding her arms. 

Fifty,” counted a voice at last, and it was 
not difficult to recognize the voice of Sergei, and 
then the nocturnal visitors disappeared behind the 
door. 

Katerina Lvovna disentangled her head and got 











The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 131 

up, but nobody was there, only not far off somebody 
under a coat tittered malevolently. Katerina 
Lvovna recognized Sonetka’s laugh. 

This insult passed all measure, and there was also 
no limit to the feeling of wrath which boiled up at 
that moment in Katerina Lvovna’s soul. Not 
knowing what she did she rushed forward and fell 
unconscious on Fiona’s breast and was caught in 
her arms. 

On that full bosom, which so lately had diverted 
with its sweet depravity Katerina Lvovna’s faith¬ 
less lover, she now sobbed out her own unbearable 
sorrow, and pressed herself close to her stupid and 
coarse rival, as a child would to its mother. They 
were now equal. They were both of equal price 
and both cast away. 

They were equal !—the caprice of a passing 
moment—Fiona ; and she who had committed that 
drama of love, Katerina Lvovna. 

Nothing was an insult to Katerina Lvovna now. 
Having shed her tears she became hardened and 
with wooden calmness prepared to go out to the 
roll-call. 

The drum sounded Rapa-ta-tap. The prisoners 
went out into the yard ; the chained and the un¬ 
chained Sergei and Fiona, Sonetka and Katerina 
Lvovna ; the schismatic fettered to the Jew, the 
Pole on the same chain with the Tarter. 







132 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


All crowded together, then formed into some 
sort of order and started. 

It was a most desolate picture : a small number 
of people torn from the light and deprived of every 
shadow of hope of a better future—sinking into 
the cold black mud of the common road. Every¬ 
thing around was frightfully ugly : unending mud, 
a grey sky, the leafless wet cytisus and the ravens 
with bristling feathers sitting in their spreading 
branches. The wind sighed and raged, howled and 
tore. 

In these hellish, soul-rending sounds that com¬ 
pleted the horror of the picture there seemed to 
echo the advice of the wife of the biblical Job : 

Curse the day of your birth and die.” 

Those who do not wish to listen to these words ; 
those who are not attracted by the thoughts of 
death even in this sorrowful position, but are 
frightened by them, must try to silence these war¬ 
ring voices by something even more monstrous. 
The simple man understands this very well; he lets 
lose all his animal simplicity, begins to play the 
fool, to laugh at himself, at other people and at 
feelings. At no time very delicate he becomes 
doubly bad. 

• ••••• 

‘‘ Well, my merchant’s wife, is your honour in 
good health ? ” Sergei asked Katerina Lvovna 






The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 133 


impudently as soon as the village where they had 
passed the night, disappeared out of sight behind 
the wet hills. 

With these words he turned at once to Sonetka, 
covered her up with his coat, and began to sing in a 
high falsetto voice : 

“ In the shade behind the window a fair head appears; 

You don’t sleep, my tormenter, you don’t sleep, you rogue. 
With my coat skirt I shall cover you, so that none shall see.” 

When he sang these words Sergei put his arms 
round Sonetka and gave her a loud kiss before the 
whole party. 

Katerina Lvovna saw all this, and yet did not 
see it. She went along like a lifeless person. The 
others nudged her and pointed out how Sergei was 
playing the fool with Sonetka. She had become an 
object of ridicule. 

Leave her alone,” Fiona said, trying to defend 
her, when one of the party attempted to laugh at 
Katerina Lvovna as she stumbled blindly along ; 

you devils, don’t you see that the woman is quite 
ill ? ” 

Probably she got wet feet,” a young convict 
said waggishly. 

Naturally, she’s from a merchant’s race ; had a 
delicate up-bringing,” answered Sergei. 

Of course, if she had warm stockings, it w’ould 
not be so bad,” continued he. 





134 Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 

Katerina Lvovna seemed to wake up. 

“ Vile serpent,” she uttered, unable to bear it 
any more ; laugh at me, villain, laugh at me.” 

No, I am not laughing at all, my merchant’s 
wife. I only say it because Sonetka wants to sell 
some stockings that are still quite good, so I thought 
our merchant’s wife might perhaps buy them.” 

Many laughed ; Katerina Lvovna walked on like 
an automaton. 

The weather became worse. From the dark 
clouds that covered the sky wet snow fell in large 
flakes, that melted as soon as it reached the ground, 
and added to the impassable mud. At last a long 
leaden line could be seen ; the other side of it could 
not be distinguished. This line was the Volga. 
Over the Volga a strong v/ind blew, and rocked the 
slowly-rising, dark-crested waves backwards and 
forwards. 

The gang of convicts, wet through and shivering, 
came slowly up to the river’s bank and stopped to 
wait for the ferry-boat. 

The dark wet ferry-boat arrived ; the guards 
began to find places for the convicts. 

They say there is vodka to be had on this 
ferry-boat,” observed one of the convicts, when the 
ferry-boat, covered with large flakes of w^et snow, 
had put off from the bank and was rocking on the 
waves of the rough river. 






The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 135 


‘‘ Yes, it would be a good thing to have a drop 
now,” said Sergei, and persecuting Katerina Lvovna 
for Sonetka’s amusement, he continued : Well 

now, merchant’s wife, for old friendship’s sake treat 
us to some vodka. Don’t be stingy. Remember, 
my ungracious one, our former love, how you and I, 
my joy, loved each other, how we passed long 
autumn nights together, and sent your relations 
in secret, without priest or deacon, to their eternal 
rest.” 

Katerina Lvovna was shivering with cold. 
Besides the cold that pierced through her wet 
clothes to the very bones, something more was going 
on in Katerina Lvovna. Her head was burning 
like fire ; the dilated pupils of her eyes shone 
brightly, her eyes wandered wildly round, or looking 
before her, rested immovable on the rolling waves. 

Yes, I would gladly drink some vodka. I can 
bear it no longer,” Sonetka chimed in. 

‘‘ Merchant’s wife, won’t you stand us a drink ? ” 
Sergei continued to annoy her. 

‘‘ Where’s your conscience ? ” said Fiona, shaking 
her head reproachfully. 

It’s no honour to yourself to have such a con¬ 
science,” said the convict Gorushek in support of 
the soldier’s wife. 

‘‘ If you’re not ashamed before her, ye might be 
ashamed for her, before others.” 







136 The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 


‘‘ Get along, you worldly old snuff-box,” shouted 
Sergei at Fiona. Ashamed indeed ! What have I 
to be ashamed of ! Perhaps I never loved her. . . . 
and now Sonetka’s worn-out boot is worth more 
to me than her phiz—the draggle-tailed cat ! 
What can you canswer to that ? Let her love 
crooked-mouthed Gorushek or else ”—he looked 
round at the guard who was sitting on his horse 
wrapped up in his burka and military cap with its 
cocade, and added—better still, let her make 
up to the guard. Under his burka she would at 
least not get wet when it rains.” 

And all would call her the officer’s lady,” - 
tittered Sonetka. 

‘‘ Of course it would be a trifle then to get 
stockings,” continued Sergei. 

Katerina Lvovna did not defend herself : she 
only looked more fixedly at the waves and her lips 
moved. Between Sergei’s base talk she heard the 
roar and sighing of the rising and breaking waves. 
Suddenly out of one broken billow she saw the blue 
head of Boris Timofeich appear, from another her 
husband looked out, and rolled about embracing 
Fedia’s drooping head. Katerina Lvovna tried to 
remember a prayer and moved her lips, but her lips 
only whispered : “ How you and I loved each other ; 
sat long autumn nights together ; sent people from 
the light of day by violent deaths.” 






The Lady Macbeth of the Mzinsk District 137 


Katerina Lvovna shuddered. Her wandering 
gaze became fixed and grew wild. Once or twice 
her arms stretched out into space aimlessly, and 
then fell down again. Another minute—she rocked 
about, not taking her eyes off the dark waves, bent 
forwards, seized Sonetka by the legs and with one 
bound threw herself and her overboard. 

All were petrified with amazement. 

Katerina Lvovna appeared on the top of a wave, 
and again dived under ; another wave brought 
Sonetka in view. 

A boat-hook, throw them a boat-hook ! ” they 
shouted on the ferry. 

A heavy boat-hook attached to a long rope was 
thrown over-board and fell into the water. Sonetka 
again was lost to sight. In two seconds the rapid 
current carried her away from the ferry and she 
again raised her arms, but at the same moment 
Katerina Lvovna rose from another wave, almost 
to the waist above the water, and threw herself on 
Sonetka like a strong pike on a soft-finned minnow, 
and neither appeared again. 




























THE TOUPEE ARTIST 

A STORY TOLD ON A GRAVE 

IN SACRED MEMORY OF THE BLESSED DAY, 
THE I9TH FEBRUARY, 1861* 


♦The date of the emancipation of the serfs. 







'.Vi 




s 





1 



■\ ■ 





I 


T here are many people in our country, who 
think that only painters and sculptors 
are ‘‘ artists,” and indeed only those who 
have been found worthy of that title by the Aca¬ 
demies—no others will they admit to be artists at 
all. For many Sazikov and Ovchinnikov are 
nothing more than silver-smiths. Other peoples 
think differently : Heine mentions a tailor who 
“ was an artist ” and had ideas,” and ladies’ 
dresses made by Worth are even now spoken of as 
artistic creations.” It was recently written 
about one of these dresses, that it ‘‘ concentrated 
a world of imagination in the point of the bodice.” 

In America the domain of art is considered still 
wider. The celebrated American author, Bret 
Harte, tells of an artist, who was greatly renowned 
among them for working on the dead.” He 
imparted to the faces of the deceased various con¬ 
soling expressions testifying to the more or less 
happy state of their departed souls. 

There were several grades of this art. I remem¬ 
ber three : (i), calmness ; (2), exalted contem- 

141 











142 


The Toupee Artist 


plation; and (3), the beatitude of the direct 
intercourse with God. The fame of the artist 
corresponded to the great perfection of his work, 
that is to say it was immense, but unfortunately the 
artist himself perished, falling a victim to the coarse 
mob, who set no value on the freedom of artistic 
creation. He was stoned to death because he had 
communicated the expression of the ‘‘ beatific 
intercourse with God ” to the face of a deceased 
defaulting banker who had swindled the whole 
town. The happy heirs of this scoundrel had hoped 
to show their gratitude to their late relative by 
giving this order, but the artistic executor thereof 
paid for it with his life. . . 

In Russia we too had a master of a similarly 
unusual artistic nature. 








II 


M y younger brother had as nurse a tall, 
thin, but very fine old woman, who was 
called Lyubov Onisimovna. She had 
once been an actress of the former Orel Theatre 
belonging to Count Kamensky, and all I am about 
to relate happened in Orel during the days of my 
childhood. 

My brother is seven years younger than I am, 
so that when he was two years old, and in Lyubov 
Onisimovna’s arms, I had just completed my ninth 
year and was quite able to understand the stories 
that were told me. 

Lyubov Onisimovna was at that time not very 
old, but she was as white as the moon. Her 
features were fine and delicate, her tall figure w^as 
erect and as wonderfully well-proportioned as a 
young girl’s. 

My mother and aunt looking at her often said 
she must have been a beauty in her day. 

She was honesty and kindness itself, and very 
sentimental; she loved the tragic side of life but 
. . . sometimes drank. 

She used to take us for walks in the Trinity 

143 








144 


The Toupee Artist 


Cemetery, where, sitting down on a common grave 
with an old wooden cross, she would relate to me 
some story. 

It was here that I heard the history of the Toupee 
Artist. 








Ill 


H 


E was our nurse’s colleague in the theatre ; 
the difference was only that she acted 
on the stage and danced dances,” while 
he was the Toupee Artist,” that is, the hairdresser 
and maker-up, who painted and dressed the hair 
of all the Count’s serf actresses. But he was no 
ordinary commonplace barber, with a hairdresser’s 
comb behind his ear, and a tin pot of rouge and 
tallow ; he was a man with ideas—in a word, an 
artist. 

According to Lyubov Onisimovna’s words no one 
could ‘‘ make imagination in a face ” better than he. 

I am unable to say exactly at the time of which 
Count Kamensky these two artistic natures flour¬ 
ished. Three Counts Kamensky are known, and 
they were all called by the old inhabitants of Orel : 

Unparalleled tyrants.” Field-marshal Michail 
Fedotovich was killed by his serfs for his cruelty in 
the year 1809, and he had two sons, Nickolai, who 
died in 1811, and Sergei, who died in 1835. 

I was a child in the forties, but can still remember 
a huge wooden building with imitation windows 

145 







146 


The Toupee Artist 


painted with soot and ochre, surrounded by an ex¬ 
tremely long half-ruined fence. This was the 
sinister residence of Count Kamensky ; and here, 
too, was his theatre. The property was situated 
in such a position that it was very well seen from the 
Trinity Cemetery, and, therefore, whenever Lyubov 
Onisimovna wanted to relate something, she almost 
always began with these words : 

‘‘ Look yonder, dear ; do you see how terrible 
it is ? ” 

“ Yes, it is terrible, nurse.” 

“ Well, and what I am going to tell you is even 
more terrible 1 ” 

This is one of her stories about the hairdresser 
Arkadie, a tender and brave young man, who was 
very dear to her heart. 






IV 

A RKADIE dressed the hair and painted the 
faces of the actresses only. For the men 
^ there was another hairdresser, and if 

Arkadie went to the men’s side it was only on 
occasions, when the Count himself ordered him to 
paint someone in a very noble manner. The chief 
speciality of the touch of this artist consisted in 
‘ ideas,’ thanks to which he was able to give to 
faces the finest and most varied expressions.” 

He was sometimes sent for and told,” said 
Lyubov Onisimovna, ‘‘ this face must have such or 
such an expression.” Arkadie would then step 
back, order the actor or actress to stand or sit 
before him, while he stood, with arms folded over 
his breast, looking at them and thinking. And all 
the time he himself was more beautiful than the 
handsomest among them, because though of middle 
height he was indescribably well-proportioned—his 
little nose was thin and proud ; his eyes were kind 
like an angel’s—and a thick curl of his hair hung 
beautifully over his eyes, so that he appeared to be 
looking out of a misty cloud.” 

In a word, the toupee artist was handsome and 

147 





148 The Toupee Artist 

pleased everybody.” Even the Count was fond 
of him and distinguished him above all others. 
He clothed him very well, but kept him with the 
greatest strictness.” He would not allow Arkadie 
to shave or cut and dress the hair of anyone but 
himself, and, for that reason, always kept him near 
his dressing-room, and Arkadie was not allowed 
to go anywhere, except to the theatre. 

He was not even allowed to go to church, to con¬ 
fession or to the Holy Communion, because the 
Count himself did not believe in God, and could not 
bear the clergy. Once at Easter-time he had set the 
wolf hounds at the Borisoglebsk priests, who had 
come to him with the cross.* 

The Count, according to Lyubov Onisi- 
movna, was so horribly ugly in consequence 
of his constant wickedness, that he w'as like all 
sorts of animals at the same time. But Arkadie 
was able to give, even to this bestial visage, though 
only for a time, such an expression that, when 
the Count sat of an evening in his box at the 
theatre, he appeared more imposing than many. 


*The occurence narrated above was known to many in Orel. I 
heard of it from my grandmother Alferiev, and from the merchant 
Ivan Ivanovich Androsov, who was known for his infallible truth¬ 
fulness, and had seen the wolf-hounds baiting the priests and had 
only been able to save himself by “ taking sin upon his soul.” W^hen 
the Count had ordered him to be fetched and had asked him : “ Are 
you sorry for them ? ” Androsov had answered : “ Not at all, your 
Excellency, they de.serve it, it will teach them not to loaf about.” 
For this the Count had spared him. 





The Toupee Artist 


149 


But in reality what the Count, to his great vexa¬ 
tion, chiefly lacked, was an imposing and military 
expression. 

In order that nobody else should have the advan¬ 
tage of the services of such an inimitable artist as 
Arkadie, all his life he had to sit at home and 
never had any money given to him since he was 
born.” Arkadie was at that time twenty-five years 
of age and Lyubov Onisimovna was nineteen. Of 
course they were acquainted, and it happened with 
them, as it often does at their age, that they fell in 
love with each other. But they were only able to 
speak of their love in vague hints, spoken too 
before all, while he was making her up. 

Tete-d-tHe meetings were quite impossible and 
could not even be thought of. 

‘‘ We actresses,” said Lyubov Onisimovna, were 
taken care of in the same way as wet-nurses are 
looked after in the houses of illustrious personages : 
we were in charge of elderly women, who had 
children of their own, and if, God forbid ! anything 
happened to one of us, those women’s children were 
subjected to the most dreadful tyranny. 

The covenant of virginity could only be broken 
by ‘ the master ’ who had ordained it,” 





L yubov ONISIMOVNA was at that time 
not only in the full bloom of her maiden 
^ beauty, but also at the most interesting 
point of the development of her many-sided talents : 
she sang in ‘‘ The Pot-Pourri Chorus,” danced the 
chief dances in ‘‘ The Chinese Kitchen Gardener,” 
and feeling a vocation for tragedy, ‘‘ knew all the 
parts at first sight.” 

I do not know for certain in which year it was 
that the Tzar (I cannot say if it was the Emperor 
Alexander I or Nikolai I) happened to pass 
through Orel and remained the night there, and in 
the evening was expected to come to Count Kamen¬ 
sky’s theatre. 

The Count invited all the notabilities of the place 
to come to his theatre (no tickets were sold), and the 
performance was to be of the best. Lyubov On- 
isimovna was to sing in ‘‘ The Pot-Pourri Chorus ” 
and dance in The Chinese Kitchen-Gardener,” 
when suddenly during the last rehearsal some 
scenery fell down and crushed the foot of the actress 
who was to act the part of ‘‘ The Duchess de-Bour- 
blanc.” 


150 










The Toupee Artist 


151 

I have never heard of nor even come across such 
a part, but that is just how Lyubov Onisimovna 
pronounced the name. 

The carpenter who had let the scenery fall was 
sent to the stables to be punished, and the injured 
actress was carried to her closet, but there was 
nobody to take the part of the Duchess de Bour- 
blanc.’’ 

‘‘ Then,’’ said Lyubov Onisimovna, I offered 
myself, because the part pleased me very much, 
especially where the Duchess de Bourblanc begs 
for forgiveness at her father’s feet, and dies with 
dishevelled hair. I had wonderfully long fair hair, 
which Arkadie dressed enchantingly.” 

The Count was delighted with the girl’s un¬ 
expected offer to take the part, and having received 
the assurance of the director that Lyubov would 
not spoil the part,” he said : 

“ If she spoils it you will have to answer for it 
withi your back. But now take her the ‘ aqua- 
marne ear-rings ’ from me.” 

The “ aquamarine ear-rings ” was both a flat¬ 
tering and loathsome present to receive. It was 
the first mark of having been chosen for the special 
honour of being elevated, for a short moment, to be 
the odalisque of the master. Soon after that, or 
even sometimes at once, an order was given to 
Arkadie to make up the doomed girl, after the play, 







152 


The Toupee Artist 


in the innocent guise of St. Cecilia ; and dressed 
all in white, with a wreath on her head and a lily 
in her hand, to symbolize innocence, she was con¬ 
ducted to the Count’s apartments. 

That,” said Nurse, ‘‘ you cannot understand 
at your age—but it was the most terrible thing, 
especially for me, because I was thinking of Arkadie. 
I began to cry. I threw the ear-rings on the table 
and wept. I could not even imagine how I would 
be able to act in the evening.” 









VI 


I N those same fatal hours Arkadie, too, was being 
beguiled into an equally fatal action. 

The Count’s brother arrived from his estate 
to present himself to the Emperor. He was even 
uglier than the Count. He had lived long in the 
country and had never put on a uniform or shaved, 
because ‘‘ his whole face had grown covered with 
furrows and protuberances.” Now on such a 
special occasion it was obligatory to appear in 
uniform, to put one’s whole person in order, and 
produce the military expression that was required 
for full dress. 

And much was required. 

‘‘ People now do not understand how strict one 
was in those days,” said Nurse. Formality was 
observed in every thing then, and there was a form 
for the faces of important personages as well as for 
the w^ay their hair was dressed, which was for some 
terribly unbecoming. If their hair was dressed in 
the formal way, with a high top-knot and roundlets 
of curls, the whole face would look like a peasant’s 
balalaika without strings. Important personages 

^53 







154 


The Toupee Artist 


were horribly afraid of this appearance. To avoid 
it much depended on the masterly way in which 
the hair was cut, and in which they were shaved— 
how the space was left between the whiskers and 
the moustaches and how the curls were formed, and 
where they were combed out—and from this—from 
the slightest trifle the whole expression of the face 
could be changed.” 

For civilians, according to Nurse, it was not so 
difficult, because they were not subjected to such 
close scrutiny. From them only meekness was 
required, but from the military more was demanded 
—before their superiors they had to appear meek— 
but before everybody else they had to look fierce 
and stern. 

“ This is just what Arkadie, with his wonderful 
art, knew how to impart to the Count’s ugly and 
insignificant face.” 






VII 

t M *^HE brother from the country was much 
I uglier than the town Count, and besides, 
in the country, he had become quite 
shaggy ” and had let such coarseness find its 
way into his face,’’ that he himself was conscious 
of it, but there was nobody who could trim him 
because being stingy in every way he had sent his 
own hairdresser to Moscow into service, and even 
if he had not done so the face of the younger Count 
was covered with pimples, so that it was impossible 
to shave him without cutting him all over. 

When he arrived in Orel he sent for the town 
barbers and said to them : 

“ To the one w’ho can make me look like my 
brother, the Count Kamensky, I will give two 
gold pieces, but for him who cuts me, I have placed 
two pistols here on the table. If it is well done he 
may take the gold and depart—but if even one little 
pimple is cut, or if the whiskers are trimmed a hair’s- 
breadth wrong—I will kill him on the spot.” 

But this was only to frighten them, as the pistols 
were only charged with blank cartridges. 

155 








156 


The Toupee Artist 


At that time there were but few barbers in Orel, 
and even they only went about the public baths 
with basins applying cups and leeches, and pos¬ 
sessed neither taste nor imagination. They knew 
it and refused to ‘‘ transform ” Kamensky. The 
devil take you,” they thought, both you and your 
gold.” 

‘‘ We can’t do what you require,” they said, 
‘‘ because we are unworthy to touch such a per¬ 
sonage, nor have we the proper razors. We have 
only common Russian razors, and for your Excel¬ 
lency’s face English razors are wanted. It is only 
the Count’s Arkadie who could do it.” 

The Count ordered the barbers to be kicked out, 
and they were pleased to have got away so easily. 
Then he drove to his elder brother’s and said : 

Now listen to me, brother ! I have come to 
ask you a great favour. Lend me your Arkadie 
before evening, to trim me properly and get me into 
a presentable condition. It is a long time since I 
shaved, and your town barbers don’t know how 
to do it.” 

The Count answered his brother : 

‘‘ The town barbers are naturally not worth any¬ 
thing. I did not know there were any, because even 
my dogs are shorn by my own hairdressers. As for 
your request, you are asking me for an impossibility, 
for I have sworn, that as long as I live, Arkadie shall 







The Toupee Artist 


157 


not dress anybody but me. Do you think I can 
break my word before my own slaves ? ” 

The other answered : 

Why not ? You have laid down the law, you 
may change it.” 

The Count, our master, replied that for him such 
reasoning was strange. 

If I began to act in that way, I should never 
be able to demand anything more from my people. 
Arkadie has been told, that such is my decree, and 
all know it, and for that reason he is better kept 
than the others, but if he ever dare to apply his art 
to anybody but me—I will have him thrashed to 
death and send him as a soldier.” 

One or the other,” his brother said. Either 
thrash him to death or send him as a soldier ; you 
can’t do both.” 

Very well,” answered the Count, let it be as you 
wish. He shall not be thrashed to death, but 
almost to death, and then he shall be sent as a 
soldier.” 

Is that your last word, brother ? ” 

Yes, that is my last word.” 

‘‘ Is this the only reason ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, the only one.” 

Well, in that case it is all right. I was beginning 
to think that your brother was worth less to you 
than a village serf. You need not break your word. 






158 


The Toupee Artist 


simply send Arkadie to me to shave my poodle. 
Once there it will be my affair to see what he does.” 
It was awkward for the Count to refuse this. 

‘‘ Very well,” he said, I will send him to shave 
the poodle.” 

‘‘ Well, that’s all I want.” 

He pressed the Count’s hand and drove awav. 








VIII 

I T was at the hour of twilight before the winter 
evening had set in, when they were lighting 
up, that the Count summoned Arkadie and 

said : 

Go to my brother’s house and shave his poodle.” 
‘‘ Is that all I shall have to do ? ” asked Arkadie. 
Nothing more,” said the Count, ‘‘ but return 
quickly to dress the hair of the actresses. Lyubov 
must be made up for three different parts, and after 
the perform^ance, present her to me as St. Cecilia.” 
Arkadie staggered. 

‘‘ What is the matter with you ? ” the Count 
asked. 

“ Pardon me,” Arkadie answered, ‘‘ I slipped 
on the carpet.” 

Take care,” remarked the Count, “ that bodes 
no good ! ” 

But to Arkadie’s sinking heart it was all the same 
if the omen were good or bad. 

After the order to adorn me as St. Cecilia was 
given, he could hear and see nothing ; he took up 
his leather case of implements and went out. 

159 







IX 


H e came to the Count’s brother, who had 
already had candles lighted at the 
mirror, and again two pistols were placed 
side by side, but this time there were not two, but 
ten gold pieces laid beside them, and the pistols were 
not charged with blank cartridges but with Cir¬ 
cassian bullets. 

The Count’s brother said : 

‘‘ I have no poodle, but this is what I require : 
make my toilet and give me the most audacious 
mien and you shall receive ten gold pieces, but if you 
cut me I will kill you.” 

Arkadie stared before him, and stared at the gold, 
and then God only knows, what happened to him— 
he began to shave the Count’s brother and trim his 
hair. In a few moments he had transformed him 
in his best style, then he slipped the gold into his 
pocket and said : 

Good-bye ! ” 

“ Go,” answered the Count’s brother, but first 
I would like to know why you are so desperate. 
Why did you decide to do it ? ” 

i6o 






The Toiipee Artist 


i6i 


Arkadie answered : 

Why I decided is the profoundest secret of my 
soul.” 

‘‘ Or perhaps you are charmed against bullets, 
and therefore are not afraid of pistols.” 

Pistols are trifles,” answered Arkadie, “ I did 
not even think of them.” 

How so ? Is it possible that you dared to 
think your Count’s word is more sacred than mine, 
and that I would not have shot you if you had cut 
me ? If you are not charmed, you would have 
lost your life.” 

At the mention of the Count, Arkadie staggered 
again, and said as if half in a dream : 

I am not charmed against bullets, but God has 
given me sense. Before you had had time to take 
the pistol in your hand to shoot me, I would have 
cut your throat with the razor.” 

With that he rushed out of the house and returned 
to the theatre, just in time to dress my hair. He was 
trembling all over. As he arranged each curl he 
bent over me to blow it into its place, and always 
whispered the same words in my ear : 

‘‘ Don’t be afraid, I will carry you off.” 


G 









X 


T he performance went off well, because we 
were all as if made of stone ; inured to 
fear and to suffering : whatever was in 
our hearts we had to act so that nothing should be 
noticed. 

From the stage we could see the Count and his 
brother—they looked just alike. When they came 
behind the scenes it was difficult to distinguish the 
one from the other. Only our Count was quite 
quiet, as if he had become kind. He was always so 
before the greatest ferocity. 

We all were stupified and crossed ourselves : 

‘‘ Lord have mercy, and save us ! Upon whom 
will his brutality fall this time ? ” 

We did not know as yet of Arkadie’s mad act of 
desperation, nor what he had done, but Arkadie 
himself knew that he would not be pardoned, and 
he was pale when the Count’s brother glanced at 
him, and mumbled something in a low voice in our 
Count’s ear. But I had very sharp ears, and heard 
what he said. 

‘‘ As a brother, I give you this advice : fear him 
when he is shaving you with a razor ! ” 

162 






’ The To^ipee Artist 163 

^ Our Count only smiled slightly. 

I think that Arkadie heard too, because when 
he was making me up for the part of the Duchess 
in the last play he put, as he had never done before, 
so much powder on me, that the costumier, who 
was a Frenchman, began to shake it off and said : 

“ Trop beaucoup, trop beaucoup,” and taking a 
brush he flicked it away. 





XI 


W HEN the whole performance was over 
the robe of the Duchess de Bourblanc 
was taken off and the dress of St. 
Cecilia was put on me. This was a simple white 
gown without sleeves, fastened only with little bows 
on the shoulders ; we could not bear this costume. 
Well, and then Arkadie came to dress my hair in an 
innocent fashion, with a thin chaplet surrounding 
the head, as St. Cecilia is portrayed in pictures, 
and he saw six men standing outside the door of my 
closet. This meant, that as soon as he had made 
me up and returned to the door, he would be seized 
and taken to be tortured. And the tortures in store 
for us w^ere such, that it was a hundred times better 
to be condemned to death. There was the strap¬ 
pado and the cord ; the head-vices and the thumb¬ 
screws ; all these and many more. The state 
punishments were as nothing compared to them. 
Under the whole of the house there were secret 
cellars in which living men were kept chained up 
like bears. When you had to pass near them it 
sometimes happened that you heard the sounds of 

164 








\ 

- The Toupee Artist 165 

chains and the groans of men in fetters. They 
probably desired that news of their condition should 
reach the world, or that the authorities should take 
their part—but the authorities did not even dare 
to think of intervening. People were made to 
suffer long in those cellars ; some all their lives. 
One lay there very long and composed some lines : 

“ Serpents will crawl on you and suck out your eyes, 
Scorpions will shed poison over your face.” 

This verse he would repeat to himself until he 
had made himself quite terrified. 

Others were chained up together with bears in 
such a way that the man was only one inch out 
of reach of the bear’s claws. 

But nothing of this happened to Arkadie Il’ich, 
because when he rushed back into my closet he 
seized a table and in a moment had shattered the 
window—more than this I cannot remember. . . . 

When I began to regain my senses, my feet were 
icy cold. I moved my legs and found that I was 
wrapped up in a large bear or wolf skin, and around 
me was complete darkness. The fast horses of the 
troika* whisked along I knew not whither. Two 
men were alongside of me, we were all three huddled 
together in the broad sledge in which we were 
sitting—one was holding me—that was Arkadie 
Il’ich, the other was the driver, who hurried the 

* Any vehicle drawn by three horses harnessed abreast. 







i66 


The Toupee Artist 


horses on with all his might. The snow flew in 
clouds from under the horses’ hoofs, while the 
sledge bent over first on one side, and then on the 
other. If we had not been sitting in the bottom of 
the sledge holding on with our hands, it would have 
been impossible to survive. 

I heard their anxious talk, as if they expected 
something. I could only understand : 

‘‘ They’re coming ! they’re coming ! Hurry up ! 
hurry up ! ” and nothing more. 

As soon as Arkadie Il’ich noticed I was conscious 
he bent over me and said : 

Lyuboshka, my little dove, they are chasing 
us ; are you willing to die, if we cannot get 
away ? ” 

I answered that I would consent with joy. 

He had hoped to reach the Turkish village, 
Khrushchuk, where many of our people had taken 
refuge from the Count. 

Suddenly we sped across the ice of a river, and 
then something like a dwelling appeared dimly 
before us, and dogs began to bark. The driver 
whipped up his horses, and turned the sledge 
sharply to one side, so that it tilted over and 
Arkadie and I were thrown out into the snow, while 
the driver, the sledge and the horses disappeared 
from our sight. 

Don’t be afraid,” Arkadie said, “ this might 







The Toupee Artist 


167 


have been expected, because the Yamshchik* 
who drove us does not know me, and I do not know 
him. He agreed to help me carry you off for three 
gold pieces, but on condition of saving his own 
skin. Now we are in the hands of God. This is 
the village of Sukhaya Orlitsa—a bold priest lives 
here, who marries desperate couples and has buried 
many of our people. We will make him a present 
and he will hide us until evening, and marry us too, 
and in the evening the yamshchik will come for us 
and we shall steal away.’’ 


♦The driver of a troika or any post vehicle. 






XII 


W E knocked at the door and went into the 
passage. The priest himself opened 
the door. He was old, of small stature, 
and had one front tooth missing. His wife, a little 
old woman, began to blow up the fire. We both 
fell at his feet. 

Save us, let us warm ourselves, and hide us 
until evening.” 

The Reverend Father asked : 

Who are you, my dear children Have you 
booty, or are you only fugitives ? ” 

‘‘ We have taken nothing from anybody,” 
answered Arkadie, we are fleeing from the brutality 
of Count Kamensky, and want to go to the Turkish 
village, Khrushchuk, where many of our people are 
already living. They will not find us there. We 
have got our own money, and we will give you a 
piece of gold for one night’s lodging, and if you 
marry us three pieces of gold. Marry us if you 
can ; if not we can be wedded in Khrushchuk.” 

‘‘ No, no, why can’t I marry you ? ” said the 
priest ? I can do so ? What is the good of being 

i68 







The Toupee Artist 169 

married in Khrushchuk ? Give me five pieces of 
gold altogether—I will marry you here.’’ 

Arkadie handed him five gold pieces, and I took 
the aquamarine ear-rings ” out of my ears and 
gave them to the priest’s wife. 

The priest took the gold and said : 

Oh, my dear children, it would be easy. I have 
bound together all sorts of people, but it is not well 
that you are the Count’s. Though I am a priest, 
still I fear his brutality. Well, never mind him, 
what God ordains, will be 1 Add another piece, 
or half a one, and hide yourselves.” 

Arkadie gave him a sixth gold piece, and then 
he said to his wife : 

“ Why are you standing there, old woman ? 
Give the fugitive a petticoat and some sort of 
jacket ; one is ashamed to look at her, she is almost 
naked.” Then he wanted to take us to the church 
and hide us in the trunk among the vestments. The 
priest’s wife took me behind the partition, and was 
just about to clothe me, when we heard a jingling 
outside the door and somebody knocked. 







XIII 


O UR hearts sank within us, and the Reverend 
Father whispered to Arkadie : 

‘‘ It is evident, my dear child, you are 
not to be hidden in the trunk with the vestments. 
Get quickly under the feather-bed.’’ 

And he said to me : 

‘‘ You, my dear child, get in here,” saying which 
he locked me up in the clock-case, put the key in his 
pocket and then went to open the door to the new 
arrivals. One could hear that there were many 
people outside. Some stood at the door, and two 
men were already looking in at the windows. 

Seven men entered the room, all beaters from the 
Count’s hunt, with their iron balls and straps, long 
whips in their hands and rope leashes in their girdles. 
The eighth who followed them w^as the Count’s 
steward, in a long wolfskin coat and high fur cap. 

The clock-case I was hidden in had a grating in 
front with a thin old muslin curtain behind it, 
through which I was able to see all that was going 
on in the room. 

The old priest lost courage, perhaps, because he 

170 










The Toupee Artist 


thought it a bad case. He trembled at sight of the 
steward, crossed himself and cried hastily : 

‘‘ Ah, my dear children. Oh, my dear children, 
I know ; I know what you are looking for, but I 
am in no way in fault towards the most serene 
Count, indeed Pm not in fault, in truth Pm not in 
fault ! ” 

And each time he crossed himself, he pointed 
with his finger over his left shoulder at the clock- 
case in which I was hidden. 

“ All is lost,” I thought, when I saw this extra¬ 
ordinary behaviour. 

The Stewart noticed this too, and said : 

‘‘ We know everything. Give me the key of this 
clock-case.” 

But the priest only crossed himself all the more. 

“ Indeed, my children, truly, my dear children. 
Pardon me, do not punish me ! I have forgotten 
where I put the key. Verily, I have forgotten ; in 
truth I have forgotten ! ” 

And all the time with the other hand he stroked 
his pocket. 

The steward too saw his incredible action, and 
took the key from the pocket and opened the clock- 
case. 

Crawl out, my pretty falcon—now I have caught 
you, your mate will soon appear.” 

Indeed, Arkadie had already shown himself ; he 






172 


The Toupee Artist 


had thrown off the priest’s feather-bed and stood 
before us. 

Yes, there is nothing more to be done,” said he. 

You have won ; you can take me to the torture, 
but she is in no way to blame. I carried her off by 
force.” 

Then he turned to the priest, and all he did was 
to spit in his face. 

‘‘ My dear children,” said the priest, “ do you 
see how my sacred office and faithfulness are out¬ 
raged ? Report this to the most serene Count.” 

The steward answered him : 

‘‘ Never mind, you need not fear, he will have to 
answer for all this.” And then he ordered Arkadie 
and me to be led away. 

We were all placed in three sledges : in the first 
Arkadie, with arms and legs bound fast, was seated 
with the huntsmen, and I with a similar guard was 
driven off in the last sledge while the rest of the 
party were in the middle one. 

All the people we met made way for us ; perhaps 
they thought it was a wedding. 







XIV 


W E soon arrived, and when we entered the 
Count’s yard I lost sight of the sledge 
in which Arkadie had been brought. I 
was taken to my former room, and questioned by 
one after another : 

‘‘ How long had I been alone with Arkadie ? ” 

I told every one : 

Oh, not at all ! ” 

Then I did not escape the fate for which I had 
probably been destined from my birth ; not with 
love, but with aversion, and when I came to after¬ 
wards, in my little room, and buried my head in the 
pillow, to weep over my misfortune, I suddenly 
heard terrible groans under the floor. 

We girls lived in the second story of a wooden 
building, and below there was a large lofty room, 
where w'e learned to sing and dance. From thence 
every sound could be heard in our rooms. The 
hellish King Satan had suggested the cruel idea 
that they should torture Arkadie under my room. . 

When I realized they were torturing him, I rushed 
to the door to go to him, but the door was locked. 

173 








174 


The Toupee Artist 


. . . I don’t know what I wanted to do. ... I 
fell down ... on the floor the sounds were still 
more distinct . . . there was neither a knife nor a 
nail at hand . . . there was nothing with which 
to end it. . . I took my own plait, wound it round 
my neck—wound it round . . . tighter and tighter, 
till I only heard ringing in my ears and saw circles 
before my eyes, then everything ceased. . . . 
When I came to myself again I felt I was in a strange 
place in a large light hut. There were many calves 
round me—more than ten—such caressing little 
calves ; they came up and licked me with their cool 
tongues—they thought they were sucking their 
mother—I awoke because they tickled. I looked 
round and thought, Where am I ? ” Then I 
saw a woman come into the room, a tall, elderly 
woman dressed in striped blue linen with a striped 
linen kerchief on her head. She had a kind face. 

The woman noticed I had come to my senses 
and began caressing me and told me I was still on 
the Count’s estate, but in the calves’ house. 

It was there,” explained Lyubov Onisimovna, 
pointing with her hand to the very furthest corner 
of the grey half-ruined fence. 











XV 

H er appearance in the farmyard was due 
to the suspicion that, perhaps, she was 
out of her mind. Such people, who were 
regarded as cattle, were sent to the farmyard to be 
observed, because the cow-herds and dairy-maids, 
being elderly and sedate people, it was thought, 
could best watch over mental diseases. 

The old woman in the striped linen dress whom 
Lyubov Onisimovna first saw on her awakening, 
was very kind, and was called Drosida. 

In the evening, when she had finished her 
work,” Nurse continued, she made up a bed for 
me of fresh oaten straw. She spread it out so well, 
that it was as soft as a feather-bed, and then she 
said : ‘ My girl, I will explain everything to you. 
Whatever may have happened you can tell me. 
I, too, am like you, and have not worn this striped 
dress all my days, but have also known another life, 
though, God forbid I should think of it now. All I 
say is, don’t break your heart because you have 
been banished to the cattle-yard ; it is better in 
banishment—only avoid this terrible flagon. . .’ ” 
And she took out of the kerchief she wore round 

175 







176 


The Toupee Artist 


her neck, and over her bosom, a small white glass 
phial and showed it me. 

What is it ? I asked. 

This is a terrible flagon,” she answered, and 
the poison of forgetfulness is in it.” 

“ Give me the poison of forgetfulness,” I said, 
I want to forget everything.” 

Don’t drink—it is vodka,” she said. “ Once I 
lost command of myself and drank—good people 
gave it to me. . . . Now 1 can’t help it—I must 
have it. Don’t drink as long as you can help it ; 
and don’t judge me that I take a sip—I am in great 
pain. You have still a comfort in the world. The 
Lord has released him from tyranny ! ” 

He is dead 1 ” I shrieked, clutching hold of my 
hair, and I saw it was not my hair—it was white. 
‘‘ What does this mean ? ” 

“ Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” she said, 
your head had become white already there ; 
when they released your neck from the plait. He 
is alive and saved from all further tyranny. The 
Count showed him such mercy as nobody had 
known before. When night comes I shall tell you 
all ; but now I must take a sip—I must take a sip 
to stop this burning—this heart-ache.” 

And she sipped and sipped and at last w^ent to 

At night, when all were sleeping. Aunt Drosida 
again got up, went to the window in the dark, and 











-— --- - —- --- 

The Toupee Artist 177 

I saw her standing there, sipping at her flagon, and 
then she hid it once more and asked in a whisper : 

X 

Does grief sleep or not ? ” 

Grief does not sleep,” I answered. 

Then she came to my bed and told me that the 
Count had sent for Arkadie after his punishment 
and said : 

You ought to have suffered all that I had 
threatened, but as you were my favourite, I will now 
show you mercy. To-morrow I shall send you to be 
a soldier, as supernumerary, but as you were not 
afraid of the noble count, my brother, with his 
pistols, I shall open the path of honour for you. 
I do not wish you to be lower than your noble spirit 
deserves. I will write a letter asking that you 
should be sent at once to the war. You will not 
have to serve as a private soldier, but as a regi¬ 
mental sergeant—so show your courage. From 
this time you are no longer subject to my will, but 
to the Tzar’s.” 

He is better off now,” said the old woman, 
he need not fear anything ; he has only one 
authority over him ; he need only fear falling in 
battle, and not the master’s tyranny.” 

I believed her, and for three years dreamed every 
night of Arkadie fighting. 

In this way three years passed. God was merci¬ 
ful to me. I was not recalled to the theatre, but I 






178 The Toupee Artist 

remained all the time living in the calves’ hut as 
Aunt Drosida’s assistant. I was very happy there, 
because I was sorry for this woman, and when, at 
night, she had not had too much to drink, I liked to 
listen to her. She could remember how the old 
Count had been slaughtered by our people—and his 
own valet was the chief instigator—as nobody could 
endure his hellish cruelty any more. All this time 
I didn’t drink and did much work for Aunt Drosida, 
and with pleasure too ; the young cattle were like 
my children. I became so attached to the calves 
that when they had been fattened up and were 
taken away to be slaughtered for the table, I would 
make the sign of the cross over them, and for three 
days after could not cease crying. I was no longer 
of any use for the theatre because my legs refused 
to work properly ; I began to be shaky on them. 
Formerly my gait was of the lightest, but now, ever 
since Arkadie Il’ich had carried me off senseless in 
the cold, where I must have frozen them, I had no 
longer any strength in the toes for dancing. I 
became the same sort of woman in striped linen 
that Drosida was. God only knows how long I 
would have lived on in this melancholy way if some¬ 
thing had not happened. One evening, when I was 
sitting in my hut, just before sunset, looking out of 
the window at the calves, suddenly a small stone 
fell into the room through the window. The stone 
was wrapped up in paper. 






I 


XVI 

I LOOKED around, to one side and to the other, 
and out of the window—nobody was to be 
seen. ‘‘ Some one has thrown it over the 
fence,” I thought, and it did not go where he 
wanted, but has fallen into our room.” Then I 
thought : Shall I undo this paper or not ? Per¬ 
haps it is better to unwrap it, because something is 
sure to be written on it. And it is sure to be some¬ 
thing that somebody requires. I may be able to 
find it out and keep the secret, but I will throw the 
note with the stone in the same way to the person 
it concerns.” 

I unwrapped it and began to read—I could not 
believe my own eyes. 


179 





XVII 



'MIE letter ran thus : 


My Faithful Lyubu ! 


I have fought for the Tzar. I have 
shed my blood more than once, and have there¬ 
fore been made an officer and gained honourable 
rank. Now I have come on leave to recover from 
my wounds, and am staying in the inn of the Push- 
karsky suburb, with the innkeeper. To-morrow 
I shall put on my decorations and crosses and 
appear before the Count, v/ith all the money I 
was given to continue my cure : five hundred 
roubles, and I shall ask to be allowed to ransom 
you for myself, in the hope of being married at 
the altar of the Most High Creator.” 

And then,” continued Lyubov Onisimovna, 
with suppressed emotion, he wrote : ‘ Whatever 
misery you have gone through, and whatever you 
may have had to submit to, I will look upon as your 
affliction, and not as sin, nor do I consider it as 
weakness, but leave it to God, and I have only 
feelings of respect for you.’ It was signed Arkadie 


Il’ich.” 


i8o 












The Toupee Artist i8i 

Lyubov Onisimovna burnt the letter to ashes at 
once, and told nobody about it, not even the old 
woman, but prayed to God the whole night, not 
saying many words about herself, but always about 
him, because she said, although he had written, 
that he w^as now an officer with decorations and 
wounds, I was still unable to imagine that the 
Count would behave to him any differently from 
before. I might even say, I feared he would beat 
him again.” 






XVIII 


E arly next morning Lyubov Onisimovna 
took the calves out into the sun and began 
feeding them out of a trough with crusts 
and milk, when suddenly sounds reached her from 
outside, that people ‘‘ in freedom ” were hurrying 
somewhere ; they were running and talking quickly 
to each other. 

‘‘ I could not distinguish a word of what they 
were saying,” she continued, ‘‘ but their words 
seemed to pierce my heart like a knife. When our 
labourer, Filip, who was carting dung, came into the 
yard, I said to him : 

Filipushka batushka (little father), have you 
heard where all the people are going and what they 
are about, talking so curiously to each other ? ” 
They are going,” he said, ‘‘ to see the officer 
whose throat was cut while he slept by the inn¬ 
keeper of the Pushkarsky Inn. They say that his 
throat was cut quite through,” he said, and five 
hundred roubles were stolen from him. The 
innkeeper was caught all bloody,” they say, and 
the money was on him.” 

182 









The Toupee Artist ' 183 

And as he told me this I felt my legs give way. 

It was quite true : that innkeeper had cut 
Arkadie Il’ich’s throat . . . and he was buried here 
. . . in this very grave on which we are sitting. . . . 
And there he is now beneath us ... he is lying 
under this mound. . . You may have wondered' 
why I always come here in our walks. . . I don’t 
want to look there (she pointed to the dark grey 
ruins), but to sit here near him and . . . and drink 
a drop for the good of his soul. . . . 





XIX 



H ere Lyubov Onisimovna paused and con¬ 
sidering her story finished, took the little 
flagon out of her pocket and either 
‘‘ drank to his memory ” or took a sip,” but I 
asked her : 

Who buried the famous artist here ? ” , 

“ The Governor, my little dove, the Governor 
himself came to the funeral. Yes, indeed. He was 
an officer ! At the funeral the deacon and the 
reverend father called him the ‘ boyard Arkadie,’ 
and when the coffin was lowered into the grave the 
soldiers fired blank shots into the air. A year later 
in the market-place of Il’inka the innkeeper 
was punished with the knout by the executioner. 
He received forty-three strokes of the knout for 
Arkadie Il’ich and bore it—he remained alive, was 
branded, and sent to penal servitude. All our 
people who were able went to see it, but the old 
men, who could remember how the man was pun¬ 
ished for the cruel Count, said that these forty-three 
lashes were so little because Arkadie was of the 
people, and that for the Count the other 

184 


common 











The Toupee Artist 185 

man received a hundred and one lashes. By law, 
you know, an even number of blows cannot be 
given, but it must always be an uneven number. 
The executioner from Tula was fetched on purpose 
then, and before the work he was given three tum¬ 
blers of rum. Then he beat him so that the hun¬ 
dred strokes were only for torture, and the man 
remained alive, but the hundredth and first lash 
shattered his back-bone. When he was lifted up 
from the boards he was already dying. . . . They 
covered him with a mat, and took him to the prison, 
but he died on the way. And the Tula executioner, 
they say, still continued to shout : ‘ Give me 

another. . . . Let me kill all you Orel fellows ! ’ ” 
Well, and you yourself ? ” I asked ; did you 
go to the funeral ? ” 

“ Yes, I went. I went with all the others. The 
Count ordered that all from the theatre should be 
taken there, to see how one of our people could be 
worthy of so much honour.” 

‘‘ Did you take leave of him ? ” 

Yes, certainly. All approached and took leave 
of him, and I ... he was changed ... so much 
changed ... I would not have known him . . . 
thin and very pale . . . they said that all the blood 
had run out, because his throat had been cut at 
about midnight. . . . Ah, the blood that he 
shed ! ” 







i88 


The Toupee Artist 


under the bed-clothes, and soon she began to 
wheeze—gently, very gently—fu-fu, fu-fu, fu-fu 
and fell asleep. 

A more terrible and soul-harrowing commemora¬ 
tion of the dead, I have never seen in all my life. 










/ 


1 


ON THE EDGE OF THE WORLD 













/ 


I 

E arly one evening, during the Christmas 
holidays, we were sitting at tea in the large 
blue drawing-room of the episcopal palace. 
There were seven guests ; the eighth was our 
host, a very aged archbishop, who was both sickly 
and infirm. All were highly educated men, and 
the conversation turned on the subject of our 
faith and our scepticism, of the preaching in our 
churches, and of the enlightening labours of our 
missionaries in the East. One of the guests, a 
certain captain B., of the Navy, who was a very 
kind-hearted man, but a great antagonist of the 
Russian clergy, maintained that our missionaries 
were quite unfit for their work, and was delighted 
that the government had now permitted foreign 
evangelical pastors to labour in the propagation of 
the Gospel. B. asserted his firm conviction that 
these preachers would have great success, not 
only among the Jews, but everywhere, and would 
prove, as surely as two and two make four, the 
incapacity of the Russian clergy for missionary 
work. 

191 






192 


On the Edge of the World 

Our respected host had remained profoundly 
silent during this conversation ; he sat in his 
large arm-chair, with a plaid over his legs, and 
seemed to be thinking of quite other things, but 
when B. ceased speaking the old ecclesiastic 

sighed and said : 

‘‘ It appears to me, gentlemen, that you are 
wrong in controverting the Captain’s opinion. 

I think he is right : the foreign missionaries will 
certainly have great success here in Russia. 

‘‘ I am very happy, Vladyko,* that you share 
my opinion,” answered Captain B., and after 
paying several becoming and delicate compliments 
to the Archbishop on his well-knowm intelligence, 
culture, and nobility of character, he continued : 

Your Eminence knows better than I do the 
defects of the Russian Church ^ there are, of 
course, many wise and good men to be found 
among the clergy—I do not wish to contest this 
but they scarcely understand Christ. Their posi¬ 
tion—and other reasons—obliges them to explain 
everything in too narrow a manner .... 

The Archbishop looked at him, smiled and 

answered : 

“ Yes, Captain, my modesty would not be 
offended if I admit that perhaps I know the 

* Vladyko is the form of address for bishops and other dignitaries of 
the church. 













On the Edge of the World ' 193 


sorrows of the Church no less than you do, but 
justice would be offended if I decided to agree with 
you that in Russia our Lord Christ is understood 
less well than in Tubingen, London, or Geneva.” 

About that, Vladyko, one can argue too.” 

The Archbishop smiled again and said : 

I see you are fond of arguing. What are we to 
do with you ? We can talk, but avoid argument.” 

With these words he took from the table a 
large album, richly bound and ornamented with 
carved ivory, and opening it, said : 

‘‘ Here is our Lord. Come and see. I have 
collected in this book many representations of 
His face. Here He is sitting at the well with the 
Woman of Samaria—the workmanship is wonder¬ 
ful ; it is evident that the artist understood the 
face and the moment.” 

Yes, Vladyko, I also think it is executed with 
understanding,” answered B. 

But is there not here in this Godly face too 
much softness ? Does it not appear to you, 
that He is too indifferent as to how many husbands 
this woman has had, and does not mind that her 
present husband is not her husband ? ” 

All remained silent ; the Archbishop noticed 
this and continued : 

I think that here a little more seriousness in 
the expression would not have been amiss.” 

H 









194 


On the Edge of the World 


‘‘ You are perhaps right, Vladyko.” 

‘‘ It is a very popular picture. I have seen it 
often, especially amongst ladies. Let us go on. 
Another great master. Here Christ is portrayed 
kissing Judas. What do you say to our Lord s 
face in this picture ? What restraint and good¬ 
ness ! Is it not so ? A beautiful picture ! ” 

A beautiful face.” 

‘‘ Still, is there not here too much effort at 
restraint ? Look, the left cheek appears to me 
to tremble, and on the lips there seems dis¬ 
gust 1 ” 

“ Certainly there is, Vladyko.” 

Oh, yes, but Judas did not deserve it ; he 
was a slave, and a flatterer—he could easily have 
produced such a feeling in everybody else—but 
certainly not in Christ, who was never fastidious, 
and was sorry for all. Well, we will pass on ; 
this one does not quite satisfy us I think, although 
I know a great dignitary, who told me that he 
could not imagine a more successful representa¬ 
tion of Christ than this picture. Here we have 
Christ again—and from the brush of a great 
master, too—Titian. The wily Pharisee with a 
denarius is standing before the Lord. Look what 
an artful old man, but Christ . . . Christ . . . Oh ! 
I am afraid ! Look, is there not disdain on His 
face ? ” 






195 


On the Edge of the World 

“ There might have been at the moment, 
Vladyko.” 

‘‘ Yes—there might—I do not deny it ; the 
old man is vile, but I, when I pray, do not imagine 
the Lord thus, and think it would be unseemly. 
Is it not so ? ” 

We answered that it would and agreed that to 
imagine the face of Christ with such an expression 
would be unseemly, especially when addressing 
prayers to Him. 

I quite agree with you in this and it recalls 
to my memory a dispute I once had on this very- 
subject with a certain diplomatist, who only 
liked this Christ ; but of course the occasion was 
a diplomatic one. Let us go on. After this one 
you see, I have pictures of the Lord where He is 
alone without any neighbours. Here you have 
a reproduction of the beautiful head done by the 
sculptor Cauer. Good, very good. That cannot 
be denied. What do you think ? And yet this 
academic head reminds me much less of Christ 
than of Plato. Here He is again, the sufferer. 
What a terrible expression Metsu has given him ; 
I cannot understand why he has portrayed him 
beaten, thrashed and bleeding. It is certainly 
terrible ! Swollen eye-lids, blood stains, bruises. 

. ... It appears as if the very soul had been 
beaten out of Him, and to gaze only on a suffering 








196 


On the Edge of the World 


body is too terrible. Let us turn the page quickly. 
He inspires sympathy and nothing more. Here 
we have Lafond, perhaps an insignificant artist, 
but much appreciated at present ; as you see, 
he has understood Christ differently from all the pre¬ 
ceding artists, and has represented Him differently, 
for himself and for us. The figure is well pro¬ 
portioned and attractive. The face is serene 
and dovelike. He looks out from under pure 
brows, and how easily the hair seems to stir ; 
here are curls ; there the locks seem to have 
fluttered and rested on the forehead. Beautiful, 
is it not ? And in His hand there is a flaming 
heart, surrounded by a thorny wreath. This 
is the ‘ Sacre Coeur,’ that the Jesuit Fathers preach 
about. Somebody told me it was they who had 
inspired M. Lafond to paint this image ; however, 
it also pleases those who think they have nothing 
in common with the Jesuit Fathers. I remember 
once on a hard, frosty day, I happened to call 
on a Russian Prince in Petersburg, who showed 
me the wonders of his mansion, and it was there 
in his winter-garden—not quite in the right setting 
—that I saw this image of Christ for the first time. 
The picture in its frame stood on a table, before 
which the Princess was seated, lost in thought. 
The surroundings were beautiful : palms, arums, 
banana-plants, warbling and fluttering birds, and 








On the Edge of the World 


197 


she was lost in thought. About what ? She 
said to me she was seeking Christ. It was then 
that I was able to examine this portrait. Look 
how effectively He really stands out, or it would 
be better to say emerges from this darkness ; 
there is nothing behind him : not even the con¬ 
ventional prophets who have wearied all by their 
importunity, and are running in their rags after 
the imperial chariot, and catching hold of it. 
There is nothing of this—only darkness . . . . 
a world of imagination. This lady—may God 
accord her health—was the first to unfold to me 
the secret of how to find Christ ; after which 
I do not dispute with the Captain that the foreign 
preachers will not only show Him to the Jews, 
but to all who wish Him to come under the palms 
and banana plants to listen to the singing of 
canaries. But will He come there ^ May it not 
be some other who will come to them in His guise ? 
I must own to you, I would willingly exchange 
this elegant Christ surrounded by canaries for 
this other Jewish head of Guercino’s, although 
it too only has to me the appearance of a good and 
enthusiastic rabbi, according to the description 
of M. Renan, whom one could love and listen to with 
pleasure .... You see how many different ways 
there are of understanding and portraying Him, 
Who is our only need. Let us now close the book 








igS On the Edge of the World 

and turn to the corner behind your backs : there 
again we have the image of Christ—but this 
time it is indeed not a face but a real image. 
Here we have the typical Russian representation 
of our Lord : the gaze is straight and simple, 
the forehead is high, which, as you know, even 
according to Lavater’s system, denotes the capacity 
for elevated worship of God ; the face has ex¬ 
pression, but no passion. How did our old 
masters attain such charm of representation ? 
That has remained the secret, which died with 
them and their rejected art. Simplicity—nothing 
more simple could be wished for in art. The 
features are only slightly marked, but the effect 
is complete. He is somewhat rustic, certainly, 
but for all that inspires adoration. I do not know 
what others feel, but for me our simple old master 
understood better than all others, Whom he 
was painting. He is rustic, I repeat, and He 
will not be invited into the conservatory to listen 
to the singing of canaries, but what of that ? 
In each land as He revealed Himself, so He will 
walk ; to us He entered in the guise of a slave, 
and as such He walks among us, not finding where 
to lay His head, from Petersburg to Kamchatka. 
It is evident, in our country it pleases Him to 
accept disgrace from those who drink His blood, 
and at the same time shed it. And thus, in the 








On the Edge of the World 199 

same measure as our national art has understood 
how to portray the outward features of Christ 
more simply and successfully, so, to my mind, 
our national spirit has perhaps also attained 
nearer to the true understanding of His inner 
character. Would you like me to relate to you an 
experience which perhaps is not devoid of interest, 
bearing on this subject ? ” 

Ah, please relate it, Vladyko ; we all beg 
you to do so.” 

Ah, you beg me. Very well, then, I beg 
you to listen, and not to interrupt my story which 
I am going to tell somewhat in detail.” 

We cleared our throats, settled ourselves com¬ 
fortably in our chairs, so as not to interrupt by 
moving, and the Archbishop began. 





II 


G entlemen, we must transport our¬ 
selves in imagination many years back ; 
it was at the time when I, still a com¬ 
paratively young man, was appointed as bishop, 
to a very distant Siberian diocese. I was by 
nature of an ardent temperament, and loved to 
have much work to do ; I was, therefore, not 
sorry but actually very pleased to receive this 
distant appointment. Thank God, I thought, 
that for the beginning I have not merely been 
nominated to cut the hair of the candidates for 
Holy Orders, or to settle the quarrels of drunken 
deacons, but have been given real live work to do, 
which can be accomplished with love. I meant by 
this our not very successful missionary labours, 
to which the Captain alluded this evening, at 
the commencement of our conversation. I 
journeyed to my new diocese with zealous en¬ 
thusiasm, and with the most extensive plans, 
but all my ardour was suddenly cooled, and what 
is more important, my whole mission would have 
been rendered unsuccessful, if a marvellous event 
had not given me a salutary lesson. 


200 






On the Edge of the World 


201 


A marvellous event ! ” exclaimed one of his 
hearers, forgetting the Archbishop’s request not to 
interrupt the narrative, but our indulgent host 
was not angered at this, but only answered : 

Yes, gentlemen, the word slipped from my 
lips, and I need not take it back ; the thing that 
happened to me and which I am about to relate 
to you, was certainly marvellous, and the marvels 
began to show themselves to me almost from the 
first day of my sojourn in my half-savage diocese. 
The first thing a Russian bishop does on entering 
on the work of his new bishopric, wherever it may 
be, is, of course, to inspect the condition of the 
churches and to see how the services are conducted. 
I, too, did this. I gave orders that the extra 
books and crosses should be removed from the 
altars of all the churches—there are often so 
many, that the altars in our churches look more 
like exhibitions of church furniture in shops than 
altars. I ordered as many round carpets as were 
needed, and had them laid down in the proper 
places, so that they should not be whisked about 
before my nose, and thrown down under my feet 
when required. With difficulty, and after threat¬ 
ening them with fines and punishments, I at last 
stopped the deacons from seizing hold of my elbows 
while I was officiating, and from ascending the 
altar steps and standing beside me, and above all 








202 


On the Edge of the World 

I made them cease cuffing and pinching the necks 
of the poor ordinands, who often suffered much 
pain in those regions, for more than a fortnight 
after receiving these blessings of the Holy Ghost. 
None of you will believe how much trouble all this 
occasioned me, and what an amount of vexation 
was caused to an impatient man, such as I was then, 
and to my shame, I must confess, am still. Having 
accomplished this, I had to begin the second epis¬ 
copal task, a work of the greatest importance, 
to assure myself that the clergy knew how to 
read, if not written characters, at least printed 
books. This examination took a long time, and 
often caused me great annoyance, but sometimes 
also amusement. A deacon or sacristan who is 
illiterate, or one who could read but not write, 
is, perhaps, even still to be found in villages or 
in small provincial towns in the interior of Russia, 
as was proved some few years ago, when for the 
first time they had to give a receipt when their 
salaries were paid out to them ; but in those days, 
especially in Siberia, it was a most common oc¬ 
currence. I ordered them to be taught. They, 
of course, complained bitterly and said I was 
tyrannical; the parishoners complained that there 
were no lectors, and said the bishop was ruining 
the Church. What was to be done ? I began to 
send, in place of such deacons, those who were able 








On the Edge of the World 


203 


at least to read ‘ by heart ’—and, good Lord !— 
what people I saw ! Lame men, stutterers, men 
with squints, men wLo spoke through their noses ; 
some were crazy and some were even possessed. 
There was one who instead of saying, Come, let us 
bow down before the Lord, our God,” shut his eyes 
like a quail and mumbled, Co-do-be-lo-go, Co-do- 
be-lo-go,” and was so engrossed in it, that it was 
difficult to stop him. Another—and this one 
was really possessed—became so absorbed by 
the rapidity of his own reading, that when he came 
to certain words, which brought to his mind an 
association of ideas, he seemed forced to succumb 
to it. Such words were among others, in 
heaven.” He would begin to read, ‘‘ As it was 
in the beginning, in every hour, in heaven,” and 
suddenly something would snap in his head and he 
continued, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom 
come.” No matter what trouble I gave m^yself 
with this blockhead it was all in vain. I ordered 
him to read what was in the book—he would 
read, As it was in the beginning, in every hour 
in heaven,” and then, suddenly shutting the book, 
would continue, hallowed be Thy name. Thy 
kingdom come,” and mumble on to the end, till he 
pronounced in a loud voice, but deliver us from 
the evil one.” Only here he was able to stop ; 
it turned out that he could not read at all. After 








202 


On the Edge of the World 

I made them cease cuffing and pinching the necks 
of the poor ordinands, who often suffered much 
pain in those regions, for more than a fortnight 
after receiving these blessings of the Holy Ghost. 
None of you will believe how much trouble all this 
occasioned me, and what an amount of vexation 
was caused to an impatient man, such as I was then, 
and to my shame, I must confess, am still. Having 
accomplished this, I had to begin the second epis¬ 
copal task, a work of the greatest importance, 
to assure myself that the clergy knew how to 
read, if not written characters, at least printed 
books. This examination took a long time, and 
often caused me great annoyance, but sometimes 
also amusement. A deacon or sacristan who is 
illiterate, or one who could read but not write, 
is, perhaps, even still to be found in villages or 
in small provincial towns in the interior of Russia, 
as was proved some few years ago, when for the 
first time they had to give a receipt when their 
salaries were paid out to them ; but in those days, 
especially in Siberia, it was a most common oc¬ 
currence. I ordered them to be taught. They, 
of course, complained bitterly and said I was 
tyrannical; the parishoners complained that there 
were no lectors, and said the bishop was ruining 
the Church. What was to be done ? I began to 
send, in place of such deacons, those who were able 








On the Edge of the World 


203 


at least to read ‘ by heart ’—and, good Lord 1— 
what people I saw ! Lame men, stutterers, men 
with squints, men wLo spoke through their noses ; 
some were crazy and some were even possessed. 
There was one who instead of saying, Come, let us 
bow down before the Lord, our God,” shut his eyes 
like a quail and mumbled, Co-do-be-lo-go, Co-do- 
be-lo-go,” and was so engrossed in it, that it was 
difficult to stop him. Another—and this one 
was really possessed—became so absorbed by 
the rapidity of his own reading, that when he came 
to certain words, which brought to his mind an 
association of ideas, he seemed forced to succumb 
to it. Such words were among others, in 
heaven.” He would begin to read, As it was 
in the beginning, in every hour, in heaven,” and 
suddenly something w^ould snap in his head and he 
continued, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom 
come.” No matter what trouble I gave m^yself 
with this blockhead it was all in vain. I ordered 
him to read what was in the book—he would 
read, As it was in the beginning, in every hour 
in heaven,” and then, suddenly shutting the book, 
would continue, hallowed be Thy name. Thy 
kingdom come,” and mumble on to the end, till he 
pronounced in a loud voice, but deliver us from 
the evil one.” Only here he was able to stop ; 
it turned out that he could not read at all. After 









204 


On the Edge of the World 


seeing that the deacons were able to read, I had 
to look into the morals of the seminarists ; here 
again I made marvellous discoveries. The 
seminary was greatly demoralized ; the pupils were 
addicted to drink, and were so indecorous that, 
for example : one of the students of the faculty of 
philosophy finished the evening prayer in the 
presence of the inspector thus : My hope is the 
Father, my refuge the Son, my protection the 
Holy Ghost : Holy Trinity—my compliments to 
you.” In the faculty of theology this is what 
occurred. After dinner the student, who had 
to say grace, said : “ As Thou hast satisfied me 
with the blessings of this earth, do not deprive 
me of the Heavenly Kingdom,” and another 
called to him from among the crowd of students : 

You pig, first you overeat yourself and then 
you ask to be taken into the Heavenly Kingdom.” 

It was necessary as soon as possible to find a 
suitable principal, who would act according to 
my ideas, who was also a tyrant like myself ; the 
time was short, and the choice limited, but I 
found one at last : he proved to be tyrannical 
enough, but beyond that you could ask for nothing 
of him. 

I will take the whole matter up in a military 
manner, most reverend Father,” said he, ‘‘ so as 
at once . . . .” 









On the Edge of the World 


205 


‘‘ Very well,” I answered, take the matter up 
in a military way.” 

And he did so. The first order he gave was : 
that the prayers w^ere not to be read but sung 
in chorus, so as to avoid all mischievous tricks, and 
that the singing should be led by him. When he 
entered, all were silent and remained without 
uttering a sound until he gave the order, prayer ! ” 
and began to sing. But all this he did in a manner 
that was almost too military. He would give the 
order, ‘‘ pray-er ! ” Then the seminarists began 
singing : Our eyes, O Lord, are turned to Thee.” 
In the middle of a word he would shout “ Stop,” 
and call one of them to him. 

“ Frolov, come here ! ” 

He approached. 

“ You are Bagreev ? ” 

‘‘ No, sir, I am Frolov.” 

Ah, ah ! so you are Frolov ? Why did I think 
that you were Bagreev ? ” 

Then there was again laughter, and again com¬ 
plaints were made to me. No, I saw—this military 
system did not answer, and at last after much 
difficulty I found a civilian who, though not so 
tyrannical, acted with more wisdom : before the 
scholars he pretended to be the w^eakest of 
good-natured fellows, but always calumniated 
me, and related everywhere the horrors of my 







206 


On the Edge of the World 


tyranny. I knew this, but noticing that this 
measure proved efficacious, did not object to his 
system. 

I had hardly, by my tyranny, brought the 
seminary into subjection when miracles began to 
occur among the adults. One day I was informed 
that a load of hay had been driven into the inside 
of the Arch-presbyter of the Cathedral, and could 
not get out again. I sent to find out what had 
really happened. They said it was quite true. 
The Arch-priest was very corpulent ; after the 
liturgy, he had gone to christen a child in a mer¬ 
chant’s house, where he had filled himself plenti¬ 
fully with the good viands set before him, from 
which cause, or owing to another fruit—a wild one— 
he had found there, and partaken of not less 
plenteously; deep and stupid intoxication had 
resulted. This was not enough He went home, 
lay down and slept for four hours, rose and drank 
a mug of kvass,* and lay down again with his 
breast to the window, to talk to somebody standing 
below—when suddenly a cart-load of hay drove 
into him. All this was so stupid that one could 
not help being disgusted, but wffien I heard the 
end of the story, I was, perhaps, even more dis¬ 
gusted. The next morning the lay-brother brought 
me my boots and said, ‘‘ Thank God, the cart 

*A sort of light beer. 







On the Edge of the World 


207 


of hay has already been driven out of the Father 
Arch-presbyter.” 

I am very pleased,” I said, to hear such 
good news, but tell me the story more fully.” 

It appeared that the Arch-priest, who owned 
a two-storeyed house, had lain down, when he 
came home at a window under which there was a 
gate-way, and at that very moment a cartload 
of hay had driven into it, and he, in his fuzzled 
sleepy state, imagined that it had driven into his 
inside. It is incredible, nevertheless it was so ; 

credo, quia absurdum.” 

How was this miracle-worker saved ? 

Also by a miracle—he would not consent to 
rise on any account, because he had a cartload 
of hay in his inside. The physician could find no 
remedy for this malady. Then a sorceress was 
called in. She twisted and turned about, tapped 
him here and there, and ordered a cart to be 
loaded with hay and driven out of the yard ; 
the sick man imagined it had emerged from his 
inside, and recovered. 

Well, after this you could do what you liked 
for him ; but he had done for himself : he had 
amused the good people, he had summoned a 
sorceress and had profited by her idolatrous 
enchantments. Here such things could not be 
hidden under a bushel, but were proclaimed on 







2 o 8 On the Edge of the World 

the highways : Those are fine priests—they are 

no good. They themselves send for our sorcerers 
to drive away ‘ shaytan.’ There was no end 
to the nonsensical talk. For a time long I trimmed 
these smoking icon lamps, as well as I could, and 
my parochial duties were rendered unbearably 
wearisome to me by them, but at last the long 
awaited and long desired moment arrived, when 
I could devote myself entirely to the work of 
enlightening the wild sheep of my flock, that 
were grazing without a shepherd. 

I collected all the documents relating to this 
question, and began to study them so diligently 
that I scarcely ever left my writing-table. 


* Satan. 








Ill 


W HEN I became acquainted with all the 
accounts of the missionaries work, I was 
even more dissatisfied with their activity 
than I was with the work of my diocesan clergy ; 
the converts to Christianity were extraordinarily 
few, and it was clear that the greater number 
of these were only paper converts. In reality 
most of those converted to Christianity had 
returned to their former faith—Lamaism or 
Shamanism, while others formed from all these 
faiths the strangest and most absurd mixture : 
they prayed to Christ and His Apostles ; to Buddha 
and his Bodhisattvas’ll to warm boots, and felt 
bags containing Shamanistic charms. This double 
faith was not only practised by the nomad tribes, 
but was to be found almost everywhere in my 
flock, which was composed not of any single 
branch of one nationality but of scraps and frag¬ 
ments of different tribes. God only knows from 
whence and how they had been brought together. 
They were poor of speech and still poorer of under¬ 
standing and imagination. Seeing that everything 

209 





210 


On the Edge of the World 


concerning the missionaries was in such a chaotic 
state, I conceived the very lowest opinion of my 
fellow workers, and treated them with harshness 
and impatience. Altogether I had become very 
irritable, and the title of “ tyrant ” that had been 
given me began to be appropriate. The poor 
monastery, which I had chosen for my abode, 
and where I wished to found a school for the natives, 
suffered most from my anger and impatience. 
When I made enquiries of the monks, I learned, 
that in the town almost everyone spoke Yakutsk, 
but of the monks there was only one who could 
speak the native dialect ; he w'as a very old monk 
and priest. Father Kiriak, but he too was of no 
use for the work of preaching, and even if he 
had been of any good, you might kill him, but 
he would not go to preach to the savages.” 

What is the meaning of this disobedience ? ” 
I asked. How dare he ? He must be told 
that I do not like this, and will not allow it.” 

The Ecclesiarch answered me that he would 
convey him my message, but it was useless to 
expect obedience from Kiriak, because this was 
not the first time ; two of my predecessors, who 
had succeeded each other quickly, had tried 
severity with him, but he was obstinate and only 
answered : 

I will willingly give my soul for my Saviour, 







On the Edge of the World 211 

but I will not go to baptize there (that is in the 
desert).” He even asked, they said, that he might 
be deprived of his office rather than he sent there. 
And for this disobedience for many years he had 
been forbidden to officiate in church, but even 
that did not trouble him ; on the contrary he 
would do the most menial work with pleasure : 
sometimes he acted as watchman, at others as bell¬ 
ringer. He was beloved by all : by the brothers, 
by the laymen, and even by the heathen. 

What } I am astonished. Is it possible even 
bv the heathen ? ” 

m 

‘‘ Yes, Vladyko, even some of the heathen come 
to see him.” 

What about ? ” 

They respect him from the old days when he 
used to go and preach to them.” 

What was he like then, in those old days ? ” 
‘‘ He used to be the most successful missionary, 
and converted numbers of people.” 

What has happened to him then ? Why has 
he given up the work ? ” 

“ It is impossible to understand, Vladyko. 
Suddenly something happened to him ; he returned 
from the desert, brought the chrismatory and the 
pyx, placed them on the altar and said : ‘ I place 
them here and will not take them again until the 
hour arrives.’ ” 





212 


On the Edge of the World 


“ What hour is he awaiting ? What does he 
mean by this ? ” 

I don’t know, Vladyko.” 

Is it possible that none of you have been able 
to find it out from him ? O, faithless and perverse 
generation, how long shall I be with you ? How 
long shall I suffer you ? How is it that this thing 
that concerns all does not interest you ? Re¬ 
member the Lord said He would spew out of 
His mouth those that were neither cold nor hot ; 
then what do you deserve who are absolutely 
cold ? ” 

But my Ecclesiarch tried to justify himself : 

We tried to find out in every way, Vladyko, 
but he always only answered : ‘ No, my dear 

children, this work is no joke—it is terrible. 

I can’t look on it.’ ” 

But when I asked what was ‘ terrible,’ the 
Ecclesiarch was unable to answer me ; he could 
only say they thought Father Kiriak had had 
a revelation while he was preaching. That pro¬ 
voked me. I must confess I am not fond of 
these ^ hearers of voices,’ who perform miracles 
while still alive and boast of having direct revela¬ 
tions, and I have my reasons for not liking them. 
I therefore ordered this refractory monk Kiriak 
to come to me at once, and not satisfied with 
being already considered stern and tyrannical, I 










On the Edge of the World 


213 


frowned terribly and was prepared to wreak my 
anger upon him as soon as he appeared. But 
when I saw before my eyes a quiet little monk, 
there seemed nothing for my angry glances to 
crush. He was clad in a faded cotton cassock, 
with a coarse cloth cowl ; he was dark and sharp 
featured, but he entered boldly, without any 
appearance of fear, and he was the first to greet me : 

Good morning, Vladyko ! ” 

I did not reply to his greeting, but said sternly : 
“ What are these tricks you are playing here, 
friend ? ” 

What, Vladyko ? ” he answered. Forgive 
me, be gracious. I am a little hard of hearing— 
I did not hear all.” 

I repeated my words still louder : 

Now then you understand ? ” 

‘‘ No,” he answered, I can understand nothing.” 

Why do you not want to go to preach, and 
refuse to baptize the natives ? ” 

I went and baptized, Vladyko, until I had 
experience.” 

Yes, but when you had experience you 
stopped.” 

‘‘ I stopped.” 

What was the reason ? ” 

He sighed and answered : 

“ The reason thereof is in my heart, Vladyko, 





214 


On the Edge of the World 


and He to whom all hearts are opened sees that 

it is too hard and above my feeble strength. 

I can’t ” 

And with these words he fell at my feet. 

I raised him and said : 

“ Do not bow down to me but explain. Have 
you received a revelation ? Is that it ? Or 
have you conversed with God Himself ? ” 

He answered with meek reproach : 

Do not laugh at me, Vladyko, I am not Moses, 
the chosen servant of God, that I should converse 
with the Almighty. It is a sin for you to think 
that.” 

I was ashamed of my anger, and relenting 
towards him said : 

What is it then .? What is the matter ? ” 

The matter is evidently that I am not Moses, 
Vladyko, that I am timid and know the measure 
of my strength. Out of heathen Egypt I can 
lead them—but I will not be able to cleave the 
Red Sea, or lead them out of the wilderness and 
will only cause simple hearts to murmur to the 
great offence of the Holy Ghost.” 

Noticing the imagery of his animated speech, 
I began to think that he w^as himself one of the 
sectaries and asked him : 

What miracle has brought you into the bosom 
of the Church ? ” 








On the Edge of the World 


215 


I have been in Her bosom from my infancy,” 
he answered, “ and will remain there till I die.” 

He then related to me the very simple and strange 
story of his life. His father had been a priest, 
who had early become a widower and was de¬ 
prived of his post for having married a couple in 
an illegal manner, so that during the whole of his 
remaining life he was unable to find another, but 
became the chaplain of an old lady of high position, 
w^ho passed her life in travelling from place to 
place and fearing to die without receiving the 
sacrament of penitence, kept this priest always 
with her. Whenever she drove out he sat on the 
back seat of her carriage ; if she entered a house 
to pay a visit he had to wait for her in the ante¬ 
chamber with the lackeys. Can you imagine 
a man having to pass his whole life in that way ? 
At the same time, as he had no church of his own, 
he was entirely dependent on the pyx, which he 
carried about with him in his breast pocket, 
and he was even able to beg some crumbs from 
this lady so as to send his boy to school. In this 
way they arrived in Siberia. The lady came to 
visit her daughter, who was the wife of the governor 
of some place in Siberia, and the priest with the 
pyx in his pocket travelled with her sitting on the 
front seat of her carriage. But as the way was 
long and the lady intended to remain some time 








2i6 


On the Edge of the World 


with her daughter, the priest, who loved his little 
son, had refused to accompany her unless his boy 
could come too. The old lady reflected and 
hesitated long, but seeing that she could not 
overcome his affection for his son, at last consented 
to take the boy with her. So he had made the 
journey from Europe to Asia, having as his duty 
on the way to guard, by his presence, a port¬ 
manteau, that was attached to the foot-board 
behind the carriage, to which he himself was tied 
to prevent him from falling off if he dozed. It 
was there in Siberia that his mistress and his father 
had both died, and he, left alone, and unable, 
owing to his poverty, to finish his schooling, 
became a soldier and had to escort prisoners from 
one halting place to another. Having a good 
eye, he was ordered one day to fire at an escaped 
convict, and though he did not even take proper 
aim, he sent a bullet into him, and without in¬ 
tending to do so, to his great grief killed him. 
From that day he never ceased suffering, and was 
so tormented that he was unfit for military service 
and became a monk. His excellent behaviour 
was noticed, and his knowledge of the native 
language and his religious fervour caused him to be 
persuaded to become a missionary. 

I listened to the old man’s simple but touching 
story, and I became dreadfully sorry for him, so 






On the Edge of the World 


217 


in order to change my tone towards him I said : 

So what you are suspected of is not true, You 
have not seen any miracles ? ” 

But he answered : 

“ Why should it not be trae, Vladyko ? ” 

How so ? Then you have seen miracles ? ” 
Who has not seen miracles, Vladyko ? ” 

‘‘ Yet . . . 

Why ^ yet ’ ? Wherever you look there arc 
miracles—there is water in the clouds, the earth is 
borne up by the air like a feather ; here we are, 
you and I—dust and ashes—but we move about 
and think ; that is also a miracle to me ; we shall 
die and turn to dust, but our soul will go to Him 
who has placed it in us. It is a miracle to me 
that it will go naked, without anything ? Who 
will give it wings to fly away like a dove and 
rest there ? ” 

‘‘ Well, we will leave that for others to discuss ; 
but answer me quite plainly. Have you ever in 
your life had any unusual manifestations or any¬ 
thing else of that nature ? ” 

In a measure, I have.’’ 

Well, what were they .? ” 

Vladyko,” he replied, “ from my childhood I 
have been greatly favoured by the grace of God 
and though unworthy, I was twice the object of 
wonderful interventions.” 





2i8 


On the Edge of the World 


‘‘ H’m ! Tell me about it.” 

‘‘ The first time, Vladyko, was in my early child¬ 
hood. I was still in the third class at school, 
and I was longing to go for a walk in the fields. 
Three of us boys went to the games master to 
ask for permission but were unable to obtain it, 
and decided to tell a lie ; I was the ringleader. 
‘ Let us cheat them all,’ I said. ‘ Come along and 
shout : They have let us off, they have let us off.’ 
We did so, and at our word all the boys ran out 
of the class rooms, and rushed into the fields to 
bathe and fish. In the evening I became afraid 
and thought ‘ what will happen to me when we 
return home. The head master will flog us.’ 
We got back and saw the rods were already pre¬ 
pared in a bowl. I ran away quickly and hid 
myself in the bath-house under a bench, and began 
to pray : ^ Good Lord, though I know I must be 
flogged, please cause me not to be flogged.’ In 
the ardour of my faith, I prayed so earnestly 
for it that I even perspired and grew weak ; but 
suddenly a wonderful fresh coolness blew over me 
and something moved in my heart like a warm 
little dove, and I began to believe that the im¬ 
possibility of being saved was possible, and felt 
calm and so daring that I was afraid of nothing ; 
all seemed at an end. Then I fell asleep. When 
I awoke, I heard my school-fellows shouting 







On the Edge of the World 


219 


gaily, ‘ Kiryusha, Kiryusha 1 Where are you ? 
Come out quickly; they won’t flog you. The 
inspector has come and we have been allowed 
to go out for a walk.’ ” 

‘‘ Your miracle,” I said, is a very simple one.” 

It is simple, Vladyko, as simple as the Trinity 
in Unity—a simple entity,” he answered, and added 
with indiscribable joy in his eyes : But, Vladyko, 
how I felt Him ! How He came to me, O, my 
Father, the little Comforter ! How He surprised 
and rejoiced me ! You can judge for yourself. 
He who enfolds the whole universe, seeing the 
childish grief of a small boy, under the bench in 
the bath-house, crept up, bringing fresh coolness 
to his soul, and came to dwell in his little bosom.” 

I must confess to you, that above all the repre¬ 
sentations of the Deity, I love most this Russian 
God of ours Who creates for Himself a dwelling 
“ in the little bosom.” Yes—whatever those Greeks 
may say, and however much they may try to 
prove that it is to them we owe our knowledge 
of God, yet it was not they who revealed them 
to us, it was not in their magnificent Byzantinism 
or in the smoke of incense-burners that we dis¬ 
covered Him. But He is verily our own and He 
walks about everywhere quite simply in our own 
way, even under the benches of the bath-house ; 
without frankincense He comes, entering into the 








220 


On the Edge of the World 

soul with, cool simplicity, and like a little dove 
takes refuge in the warm bosom.” 

Continue, Father Kiriak,” I said, I am wait¬ 
ing for the story of the other miracle.” 

‘‘ I will tell you about the other at once, Vladyko. 
It happened when I was further from Him—of 
little faith—when I was on the way here, sitting 
at the back of the carriage. It had been necessary 
to take me out of the Russian school and bring me 
here just before the examinations. I did not mind 
this as I was always first in my class, and would 
have been accepted in the seminary even without 
an examination ; but the head-master gave me a 
certificate in which he wrote : ‘ in every subject 
moderately good.’ ‘ I give you this,’ he said, ‘ on 
purpose ; for our reputation, so that you should 
have to pass an examination there, and they might 
see what scholars we look upon as moderately good.’ 
Both my father and I were terribly unhappy about 
it ; and to add to this, though my father had 
ordered me to continue learning all the way, one 
day while sitting on the foot-board behind the 
carriage I had the misfortune to fall asleep and in 
crossing a river, at the ford, lost all my books. I 
cried bitterly at the loss, and my father gave me a 
severe flogging for it at the wayside inn ; neverthe¬ 
less before we reached Siberia I had forgotten all 
this and began again to pray like a little child : 









221 


On the Edge of the World 

‘ Lord, help me ! Let me be accepted without an 
examination.’ It was no good, however much I 
prayed to Him ; they looked at my certificate 
and ordered me to go up for examination. I came 
up sad of heart, all the other boys were jolly, play¬ 
ing leap-frog, and jumping over each other—I 
alone was sad—I and another thin and miserable- 
looking boy who was sitting but not learning and 
told me it was from weakness—a fever had attacked 
him. I sat there looking into a book, and began in 
my mind to bid defiance to the Lord : well, what 
now, I thought, have 1 not prayed to Thee with 
all my might, and Thou hast done nothing for me. 
Then I rose in order to get a drink of water, when 
suddenly, somewhere in the middle of the room, 
something hit me on the back of my head and 
threw me to the ground. ... I thought this is 
probably my punishment ! God has not helped me 
in any way, and now He has given me a blow. 
Then I looked round ; no ; it was only that sick 
boy, who had tried to jump over me, but had not 
the strength and had fallen, and knocked me down 
too. The other boys said to me : ^ Look, you 

new boy, your arm is hanging loose.’ I felt it ; 
the arm was broken. I was taken to the hospital 
and put to bed. My father came to see me there, 
and said : ‘ Don’t grieve, Kiryusha, because of this 
you have been accepted without an examination.’ 








222 


On the Edge of the World 


Then I understood how God had settled all these 
things and began to cry. The examination was 
quite an easy one, so easy that it would have been 
child’s play for me. It meant that I, little fool, 
did not know what I asked for but it had been 
nevertheless accomplished to make me wiser. 

Ah, Father Kiriak, Father Kiriak,” said I, 
you are an extraordinarily consoling man.” I 
embraced him several times, dismissed him without 
asking him anything further, and ordered him to 
come to me from the next day to instruct me in 
in the Tangus and Yakut languages. 








IV 


T he sternness I had at first shown to Kiriak 
I now directed on the other monks of my 
little monastery, in whom, I confess, I 
did not find the simplicity of Kiriak, nor any good 
works useful to the faith ; they lived, so to speak, 
as outposts of Christianity, in a heathen land, 
and yet the lazy beggars did nothing—there was 
not even one among them who had taken the 
trouble to learn the language of the natives. 

I admonished them, I admonished them privately, 
and at last thundered at them from the pulpit 
the words Tzar Ivan addressed to the reverend 
Guri : it is vain to call the monks angels—they 

cannot be compared with angels, nor have they 
any likeness to them, but they should resemble 
the Apostles, whom Christ sent to teach and 
baptize.” 

Kiriak came the next day to give me a lesson 
and fell at my feet. 

What is it ? What is it ? ” I asked lifting 
him up, worthy teacher it is not seemly that 
you should bow to the ground before your pupil.” 

223 







224 


On the Edge of the World 


“ No, Vladyko, you have comforted me greatly, 
you have comforted me as 1 never hoped to be 

comforted in this world.” 

In what way, man of God,” I said, ‘‘ have I 

pleased you so greatly ? ” 

“ In that you have ordered the monks to learn, 
and when they go forth, first to teach and then to 
baptize. You are right, Vladyko, to make this 
rule ; Christ Himself ordered it, and His disciples 
say : ‘ Where the spirit has not been taught there 
can be no good.’ They can all baptize but to 

teach the Word thev are not able.” 

0 

‘‘ Brother, you have understood me in a wider 
sense than I intended,” said I ; ‘‘ according to you, 
children need not be baptized either.” 

For Christian children it is different, Vladyko.” 

“ Well, yes, but Prince Vladimir would not have 
baptized our forefathers at all if he had waited 
long for them to learn.” 

But he answered me : 

“ Ah, Vladyko, it might perhaps really have 
been better to have taught them first. You know 
well—you have read the chronicles—the brew was 
boiled too quickly—‘ inasmuch as His piety was 
joined with fear.’ The metropolitan Platon said 
wisely : ‘ Vladimir was too hasty, and the Greeks 
were cunning, they baptized the ignorant—and 
unlearned.’ Are we to imitate their haste and 








On the Edge of the World 


225 


cunning ? You know they are ‘ even flatterers to 
this day.’ And thus we are baptized in the name 
of Christ, but we are not clothed in Christ. It is 
futile to baptize in this way, Vladyko. 

How is it futile. Father Kiriak ? ” I asked. 
What is this that you preach, my friend ? ” 

“ Why not, Vladyko ? ” he answered. ‘‘ Is it 
not written in the Holy Books that baptizm with 
water alone is not sufficient to ensure eternal life ? ” 
I looked at him and answered seriously : 

“ Listen to me. Father Kiriak, you are talking 
heresy.” 

No, I am not heretical,” he replied. I do 
but repeat the orthodox words of the holy Cyril 
of Jerusalem : ‘ Simon can wash the bodies of the 
magi with water in the font, but he cannot illumin¬ 
ate their hearts with the Spirit ; the body can be 
anointed above and below, but the soul cannot be 
buried and rise again.’ Although he had been 
baptized, although he had washed his body, he 
was no Christian. The Lord liveth and the soul 
liveth, Vladyko—remember is it not written : 
‘ there will be those that are baptized who will 
hear : Verily I say unto you, I know you not,’ 
and the unbaptized, who for their deeds of righteous¬ 
ness will be saved and enter, because they observed 
righteousness and truth. Is it possible you deny 
this ? ” 

I 






226 


On the Edge of the World 


Well, I thought, we could wait to talk about 
this, and said to him : 

“ Let us learn the heathen tongue, brother, 
and not the language of Jerusalem ; begin to 
teach me, and be not angry if I am slow of com¬ 
prehension.” 

I am not angry, Vladyko,” he answered— 
and in truth he was a wonderfully good-natured 
and open-hearted old man, and taught me admir¬ 
ably. He disclosed to me with quickness and 
intelligence all the secrets of acquiring this speech, 
which is so poor and possesses so few words that it 
can scarcely be called a language. It is certainly 
nothing more than the language of the animal life, 
and not of the intellectual life ; nevertheless, 
it is difficult to master ; the phraseology is laconic, 
and it has no periods ; from this arises the diffi¬ 
culty of all attempts at translation into this speech 
of any text expressed according to the rules of a 
developed language, possessing complicated periods 
and subjunctive propositions, while poetical and 
•figurative expressions are impossible to render ; 
besides the meaning they convey would be quite 
unintelligible to this poor people. How could you 
explain to them the meaning of the following words : 

“ Be as crafty as the serpent and as gentle as the 
dove,” when they have never seen a serpent or a 
dove, and are even unable to form an idea of them. 






On the Edge of the World 


227 


It is impossible to find words that they would 
understand to express martyr, baptist, forerunner, 
and if you translated the Holy Virgin into their 
language—Shochmo Abya ”—they would under¬ 
stand, not our Virgin Mary, but some sort of 
Shamonist female deity—in fact, a goddess. Of 
the merits of the Holy Blood, or of any other 
mysteries of our faith it is even more difficult to 
speak. You could not think of constructing for 
them any theological system, or of mentioning 
a child born of a Virgin—without a husband— 
they would either understand nothing, and that 
might be best, or else they would perhaps laugh 
in your face. 

All this Kiriak communicated to me, and im¬ 
parted it so admirably that when I had learned 
the spirit of the language, I could understand the 
whole spirit of this poor people ; and what amused 
me more than anything about myself was that 
Kiriak had succeeded in the most imperceptible 
manner in removing all my assumed sternness : 
the pleasantest relations developed between us ; 
they were so easy and so playful, that when I had 
finished my lessons, still retaining this playful 
tone, I ordered a pot of gruel to be prepared, 
placed upon it a silver rouble and a piece of black 
cloth for a cassock and, like a scholar, who has 
finished his studies, took it myself to Kiriak’s cell. 






228 


On the Edge of the World 


He lived under the belfry in such a small cell, 
that when I entered there was no room for the 
two of us to turn round and the vaults seemed 
to press on the crowns of our heads ; but everything 
looked tidy, and in the dim grated window there 
was even an aster growing in a broken cooking pot. 

I found Kiriak at work ; he was threading fish 
scales, and sewing them on to linen. 

‘‘ What are you doing there ? ” I asked. 

Little ornaments, Vladyko.” 

‘‘ What sort of little ornaments ? ” 

Ornaments for the little savage girls. They 
come to the fair and I give them ornaments.” 

So that’s how you give pleasure to the un¬ 
believing heathen.” 

Oh, Vladyko ! Why do you always keep on 
•saying the unbelieving, the unbelieving ? All were 
created by one God, these poor blind people ought 
to be pitied.” 

‘‘ They must be enlightened, Father Kiriak.” 

To enlighten ? ” he said. “ It is a good thing 
Vladyko, to enlighten. Yes, enlighten, enlighten 

-” and he murmured, Let your light so 

shine before men, that they may see your good 
works.” 

‘‘ I have come to yon,” I said, “ to thank you 
for teaching me, and have brought you a pot of 
gruel.” 









On the Edge of the World 229 

“ Excellent ! ” he said. “ Sit down to the pot 
of gruel yourself, and be my guest.” 

He asked me to be seated on a block of wood, 
and himself sat down on another, and placing my 
gruel on a bench between us said : 

Well, Vladyko, won’t you partake of it with 
me ? It’s your gift and I bow to the ground and 
thank you for it.” 

So we began to partake of the gruel, the old 
monk and I, and conversed the while. 






V 


I MUST confess I was greatly interested to 
know what it was that had induced Kiriak 
to give up his successful missionary work, 
and caused him now to regard it so strangely, and 
to behave so reprehensibly and even so criminally, 
according to the views I held at that time. 

Of what shall we converse ? After so warm 
a welcome we must have a good talk. Tell me, 
don’t you know how we are to teach the Faith to 
these natives, whom you always take under your 
protection ? ” 

We must teach them, Vladyko, we must teach 
them, and show them a good example by good 
living.” 

‘‘ But how are we to teach them, you and I ? ” 
I do not know, Vladyko ; one ought to go to 
them and teach them.” 

‘‘ That’s just what is wanted.” 

Yes, they must be taught, Vladyko ; in the 
morning the seed must be sown, and in the evening, 
likewise, you must not give your hand any rest— 
you must sow the whole time.” 

230 






On the Edge of the World 


231 


You talk very well—why don’t you do so ? ” 

‘‘ Excuse me, Vladyko, do not ask me.” 

‘‘ No, you must tell me.” 

“ If you require me to tell you, then explain 
to me why I should go there? ” 

‘‘ To teach and baptize.” 

To teach ? I am incapable of teaching, 
Vladyko ! ” 

Why ? Is it the devil who won’t allow you ? ” 

No, no ! What is the devil ? What danger 
is he to a Christian ? You have but to make the 
sign of the cross with one finger, and he will dis¬ 
appear, but the little devils interfere ; that’s 
the trouble.” 

What little devils ? ” 

The wearers of epaulets, the philanthropists, 
the pettifoggers, the officials with all their red 
tape.” 

‘‘ These seem to be stronger than Satan himself.” 

‘‘ Of course ; you know, this is a race that 
nothing will exorcise, not even prayer and fasting.” 

Well, then, you must simply baptize, as all 
baptize.” 

Baptize ? ” Kiriak repeated after me—and 
suddenly was silent and smiled. 

What is it ? Go on.” 

The smile faded from Kiriak’s lips, and he 
continued, with a serious, almost stern look : 






232 On the Edge of the World 

No, I don’t want to do this in a hurry, 
Vladyko.” 

‘‘ What ? ” 

I don’t want to do it in this way, Vladyko,” 
he said with firmness, and again smiled. 

‘‘ What are you laughing at ? ” I said. And 
if I order you to baptize.” 

I will not obey you,” he answered, smiling 
good-naturedly, and slapping me familiarly on the 
knee continued : 

“ Listen, Vladyko, I don’t know if you have read 
it. In the Lives of the Saints there is a fine 
story-” 

But I interrupted him and said : 

“ Spare me the Lives, I beg you ; here it is a ques¬ 
tion of the Word of God and not of the traditions of 
man. You, monks know, that you can find all 
sorts of things in the Lives and therefore love to 
quote them.” 

“ Vladyko, let me finish,” he answered. I 
may find, even in the Lives, something appropriate.” 

And he told me an old story, from the first 
centuries of Christianity, about two friends— 
one a Christian, the other a heathen. The first 
often talked to the latter about Christianity and 
annoyed him with it so much, that though at 
first he had been indifferent, he suddenly began 
to abuse it, and at the moment he was showering 






On the Edge of the World 


233 


the greatest blasphemy on Christ and Christianity, 
his horse kicked and killed him. His friend, the 
Christian, saw in this a miracle and was appalled 
that his friend, the heathen, had departed this 
life in such a spirit of enmity towards Christ. 
The Christian in his distress wept bitterly and 
said : ‘ It had been better had I never spoken to 
him about Christ—he would then not have been 
provoked and would not have answered as he 
did.’ But to his consolation, he was informed 
spiritually that his friend had been accepted by 
Christ, because, though the heathen had been 
provoked, by such insistent talk, he had inwardly 
reflected about Christ and had called to Him 
with his last breath. 

And He was in his heart,” Kiriak added. He 
embraced him and gave him a refuge.” 

So I suppose this brings us again to ‘ in his 
little bosom.’ ” 

“ Yes, ‘ in his little bosom.’ ” 

‘‘ Well, Father Kiriak,” I said, this is just 
your trouble, you rely too much on the ^ little 
bosom.’ ” 

‘‘ Oh, Vladyko, how am I not to rely on it ; 
great mysteries go on there—all blessings come 
from it : mother’s milk that nourishes the little 
children, and love and faith dwell therein. Believe 
it, Vladyko, it is so. It is there, it is all there. 






234 


On the Edge of the World 


it is only from the heart it proceeds, and not 
from the reason. With reason you cannot con¬ 
struct it—but can only destroy : reason gives 
birth to doubt, Vladyko ; faith gives peace, 
gives happiness. This, I tell you, consoles me 
greatly ; you see how things are going and are 
angry, but I always rejoice.” 

“ Why do you rejoice ? ” 

Because all is very good.” 

What do you mean—‘ all is good ’ ? ” 

All, Vladyko, that is revealed to us, and 
all that is hidden from us. I think, Vladyko, 
that we are all going to a feast.” 

‘‘ Please be clearer ; do you simply set aside 
the baptism with water ? It that so ? ” 

‘‘ Well, I never. I set it aside. Oh, Vladyko, 
Vladyko ! How many years I have been pining, 
always waiting for a man with whom I could con¬ 
verse freely about spiritual things—soul to soul— 
and when I knew you, I thought, this is the man 
I am waiting for, and now you are splitting hairs 
like a lawyer ! What do you want ? All words 
are vain, and I too. There is nothing I set aside. 
Consider what various blessings come to me— 
and from love, but not from hate. Have patience 
listen to me ! ” 

‘‘ Very well,” I answered, ‘‘ I will listen ; what 
do you want to preach ? ” 







On the Edge of the World 


235 


“ Well, we are both baptized, so that is very good 
—that is like a ticket given us for a feast ; we go 
to it, and know that we are invited, because we 
have a ticket.’’ 

Yes.” 

Well, and then we see that alongside of us 
another man is wandering thither, but without a 
ticket. We think, what a fool ! It is useless for 
him to go—he will not be allowed to enter ! When 
he arrives the door keeper will turn him out. We 
come there and see the door-keeper wants to turn 
'him out, as he has no ticket, but if the master 
sees him, perhaps he will allow him to enter—he 
will say : It does not matter that he has no ticket 
—I know him even without a ticket ; you may 
enter—and he leads him in and behold, he shows 
him more honour than to many another who 
comes with a ticket.” 

Is that what you instil into them ? ” 

No, why should I instil this into them ? It 
is only to myself I argue thus, of Christ’s goodness 
and wisdom.” 

“ Yes, but do you understand his wisdom ? ” 

‘‘ Vladyko, how can we understand it \ It 
can’t be understood, but .... I only say what 
my heart feels. Whenever I have anything I 
ought to do, I ask myself : Can I do this to the 
glory of Christ ? If I can, then I do it, if I cannot, 
—then I do not do it.” 






236 


On the Edge of the World 


“Then is this the chief principle of your 
teaching ? ” 

“ This, Vladyko, is my chief and only principle ; 
all is in it ; for simple hearts, Vladyko, this is so 
easy; it is so simple. You can’t drink vodka 
for the glory of Christ, you can’t fight or steal 
for the glory of Christ, you can’t abandon a man 
without help .... The savages soon understand 
this, and approve of it. ‘ He is good, your little 
Christ,’ they say. ‘ He is just—that is how they 
understand it.’ ” 

“ After all, they may be right.” 

“ Yes, Vladyko, it is possible, but this is what 
I don’t find right, that the newly baptized come 
to the town, and see what all the Christians do 
and ask: ‘ Can this be done for the glory of 

Christ ? ’ What can we answer them, Vladyko ? 
Are the people Christians or not Christians ? 
One is ashamed to say they are not Christians, 
and to call them Christians would be a sin.” 

“ How do you answer them ? ” 

“ Kiriak only made a movement with his hand 
and murmured : 

“ I say nothing .... I only weep . . . .” 

I understood that his religious morality had 
come into collision with a species of politics. He 
had read Tertullian “ On Public Spectacles,” 
and concluded that “ for the glory of Christ ” 
it was impossible to go to the theatre, or to dance. 





On the Edge of the World 


237 


or to play at cards, or to do many other things which 
our contemporary, outwardly seeming Christians, 
could not do without. He was in some ways an 
innovator, and seeing this antiquated world, was 
ashamed of it, and hoped for a new one full of 
spirit and truth. 

When I suggested this to him he at once agreed 
with me. 

Yes,” he said, these people are of the flesh ; 
why show the flesh ?—it must be hidden so that 
the name of Christ should not be brought to 
contempt by the hypocrites.” 

‘‘ How is it that people say the natives still 
come to you ? ” 

They trust me, and they come.” 

So it appears, but why ? ” 

‘‘ When they have a dispute or a quarrel they 
come to me. ‘ Settle this matter,’ they say, 

‘ according to your little Christ.’ ” 

“ And you settle it ? ” 

Yes, I know their customs ; I apply the 
wisdom of Christ, and settle the matter.” 

They accept it ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, they accept it—they like His justice. 
At other times the sick come, and the possessed— 
they ask me to pray for them.” 

How do you cure the possessed ? Do you 
heal them by saying prayers ? ” 








238 


On the Edge of the World 


No, Vladyko ; I pray for them, and then I 
comfort them.” 

‘‘ Their sorcerers are said to be skilled in that.” 

‘‘ It is so, Vladyko—the sorcerers are not all 
alike ; some really know many of the secret 
powers of nature—some of the sorcerers are not 
so bad. . . . They know me and even send some 
of their people to me.” 

How is it you are on friendly terms with the 
Shamanists ? ” 

This is how it happened: The Buddhist 
lamas made a descent on them, and our officials 
took many of these Shamanists and put them to 
prison—the wild man is dull in prison—God 
only knows what happened to some of them I 
So I, poor sinner, used to go to the prison and took 
them buns, that I had begged from the merchants, 
and comforted them with words.” 

‘‘ Well, and what then ? ” 

They were grateful, they took them in Christ’s 
name and praised Him ; they said He was good 
—and kind. Yes, Vladyko, hold your peace, 
they themselves did not know that they were 
touching the hem of His garment.” 

‘‘ Yes, but how do they touch it ? ” I said. 

All this has no meaning.” 

Ah, Vladyko, why do you want to have every¬ 
thing at once. God’s work goes its own way. 







On the Edge of the World 


239 


without bustle. Were there not six water pots 
at the wedding of Cana, and they were certainly 
not all filled at the same time, but one after the 
other. Why Father, even Christ, great wonder¬ 
worker that he was, first spat on the blind Jew’s 
eyes, and then opened them ; but these people 
are more blind than the Jews. How can we 
demand much from them all at once ? Let them 
touch the hem of His garment—His goodness is 
felt, and He will entice them to Himself.” 

Come, now, entice ? ” 

And why not ? ” 

What improper words you use ! ” 

In what way are they improper, Vladyko ? 
—the word is quite a simple one. He is our 
benefactor, and is also not of boyard stock. He 
is not judged for His simplicity. Who knows 
His descent I But He went about with shep¬ 
herds, He consorted with sinners. He had no 
aversion for a scabby sheep, but when He found one 
He would take it on His holy back, just as it was, 
and bear it to the Father. Well, and He—what was 
He to do ? Not wishing to grieve His much 
suffering Son, He admitted the defiled one into 
His sheep-fold.” 

Very good,” I said, ‘‘ as a catechist, you 
won’t do at all, brother Kiriak, but as a baptizer, 
though you talk somewhat heretically, you can 






240 On the Edge of the World 

be of use, and notwithstanding your wishes I 
will send you to baptize.” 

Kiriak became frightfully agitated and perturbed. 

‘‘ Good gracious, Vladyko, why do you wish 
to force me ? Christ will forbid it. Nothing will 
come of it, nothing, nothing, nothing ! ” 

Why should it be so ? ” 

“ It is so, because the door is closed to us.” 

Who closed it ? ” 

“ He who has the Key of David : ‘ he that openeth 
and no man shutteth, and shutteth and no man 
openeth.’ Or have you forgotten the Apocalypse ? ” 
Kiriak, too many books will make you 
foolish.” 

‘‘ No, Vladyko, I am not foolish, but if you 
do not listen to me, you will wrong many people 
and give offence to the Holy Ghost, and the eccles¬ 
iastical office will rejoice that in their reports 
they will be able to boast and tell more lies.” 

I ceased listening to him, but did not renounce 
the idea of being able to overcome his whim, and 
send him after all. But what do you think hap¬ 
pened ? It was not only the simple-hearted Amos 
of the Old Testament who suddenly began to 
prophesy, while picking berries—my friend Kiriak 
had also prophesied and his words, Christ will 
forbid it,” began to be fulfilled. At that very time, 
as if on purpose, I received a notification from 








On the Edge of the World 


241 


Petersburg that authority had graciously been 
given to increase greatly the number of Buddhist 
temples, and that the lists of lamas permitted in 
Siberia had been doubled. Although I was born in 
Russia, and had been taught not to be surprised 
at anything unexpected, still, I must confess, 
this condition contra jns ef fas astonished me, and 
what was much worse, it quite confused the poor 
people, who had been recently baptized, and even 
to a greater degree the unfortunate missionaries. 
The news of these joyful events, to the detriment 
of Christianity, and to the advantage of Budd¬ 
hism, spread over the whole district like a whirl¬ 
wind. To carry the report horses galloped, rein¬ 
deer bounded, and dogs raced on every side, and 
Siberia was informed that the all-overcoming and 
all-renouncing god Fo had also overcome and cast 
aw'ay the little Christ in Petersburg. The triumph¬ 
ant lamas asserted that our rulers and even our 
Dalai Lama, that is the Metropolitan, had accepted 
the Buddhistic faith. The missionaries were 
alarmed when they heard this news ; they did 
not know what to do. Some of them, I think, 
even began to doubt. Was it not perhaps possible 
that in Petersberg things had swung round to the 
lama’s side in the same way as things had turned 
in those artful and intriguing times towards Roman 
Catholicism, and are now, in these foolish days 






242 On the Edge of the World 

that are so full of fancies, turning towards spirit¬ 
ualism ? Only, of course, it is being accomplished 
more quietly, because now, although the chosen 
idol is but a puny one, nobody wants to over¬ 
throw it. But then such cold-blooded tolerance 
was wanting in many, and I, poor sinner, w^as 
among that number. I could not look with in¬ 
difference on my poor baptizers, who came wan¬ 
dering on foot out of the deserts, back to me for 
protection. In the whole district there was not 
one old nag for them, not one reindeer, not a 
single dog, and God only knows how they had 
crawled back on foot through the snow drifts. 
They arrived dirty and in tatters—certainly not like 
the priests of God Almighty, but more like real 
wandering cripples. The officials and the whole 
of the ordinary administration protected the 
lamas without the slightest pricks of conscience. 
I had almost to fight the Governor in order to 
persuade that Christian boyard to check his 
assistants from quite openly providing for Budd¬ 
hism. The Governor, as usual, was offended, and 
we had a violent quarrel. I complained to him 
about his officials ; he wrote to me, that nobody 
interfered with my missionaries, but that they 
were idle and unskilful. My deserter-mission¬ 
aries in their turn whined that, although their 
mouths had not actually been gagged, they could 





243 


On the Edge of the World 

not get a horse or a reindeer anywhere, because 
everywhere in the desert the people were afraid 
of the lamas. 

The lamas, they said, were rich—they gave 
money to the officials, but we have nothing to 
give. 

What could I say to comfort them ? I might 
have promised to propose to the Synod, that the 
monasteries and convents which had “ much 
money ” should share it with us who were poor, 
and give us a certain sum to bribe the officials, 
but I was afraid that in the vast halls of the Synod 
this request might be found out of place, and, 
having prayed to God, they might refuse me 
assistance for the purpose of bribery. At the 
same time, even if such means were in our hands, 
this might also be uncertain : my apostles had 
disclosed to me so much weakness in themselves, 
which in conjunction with the circumstances, 
had a very grave significance. 

We feel compassion for the savages,” they 
said, ‘‘ They will lose the little sense they have 
from all this worry; to-day we baptize them, 
tomorrow the lamas convert them and order them 
to deny Christ, and as a penalty take anything 
they can find belonging to them. The poor 
people are beggared of their cattle and their scanty 
understanding—all the religions become muddled 






244 On the Edge of the World 

for them, they limp on both legs, and complain 
to us.” 

This contest greatly interested Kiriak, and taking 
advantage of my favour he often stopped me 
with the question : 

Vladyko, what has the enemy written to 
you ? ” or: 

Vladyko, what have you written to the 
enemy ? ” 

He once even came to me with a request. 

Vladyko, consult with me, when you write 
to the enemy.” 

This was on the occasion when the governor 
had informed me that in the neighbouring diocese 
where the conditions were exactly the same as 
where I was stationed, preaching and baptizing 
were progressing successfully, and at the same time 
pointed out to me a certain missionary named 
Peter, a Zyryan, who baptized great numbers 
of the natives. 

These circumstances disturbed me, and I asked 
the neighbouring bishop if it was so. 

He answered it was quite true he had a 
Zyryan priest Peter, who had twice gone out to 
preach and the first time had baptized so many, 
that he had ‘‘ no crosses left,” and the second 
time had taken double the number of crosses, 
and had still not had enough, and had been 








On the Edge of the World 


245 


obliged to take them from one neck to hang 
them on another. 

When Kiriak heard this he began to weep. 

‘‘ My God,” he said, from whence has this 
crafty worker come to add to all our trouble. 
He will drown Christ in His Church in His own 
blood 1 Oh, what a misfortune ! Have pity, 
Vladyko, —hasten to ask the bishop to restrain 
his too faithful servant—to leave something to 
the Church even if only power for sowing.” 

‘‘ Father Kiriak,” I said, ‘‘ you are talking 
nonsense. How can I attempt to restrain a man 
from such praiseworthy zeal ? ” 

Oh, no, Vladyko,” he implored me, beg 
him ; this is incomprehensible to you, but I 
understand what is now being done in the desert. 
All this is not for Christ’s sake ; but the work done 
there serves His enemies. He will be drowned. 
They will drown Him, the little Dove, with blood, 
and for a hundred years more the people will be 
frightened away from Him.” 

Of course, I did not listen to Kiriak, but on the 
contrary wrote to the neighbouring bishop, asking 
him to give me his Zyryan to help me, or as the 
Siberian aristocrats say in French : au proka.”* 
At that time my neighbour had just been rescued 
from his Siberian penance, and as he was to be 

*A mixture of French and Russian, meaning “ on loan.” 








246 


On the Edge of the World 


recalled to Russia lie did not insist on retaining 
his adroit baptizer. The Zyryan was sent to me : 
he was large, bearded, and loquacious, an oily 
man. I sent him at once to the desert and already 
two weeks later received joyful news : he informed 
me that he had baptized the people everywhere. 
There was only one thing he feared : would he 
have sufficient crosses, though he had taken a 
very fair sized boxful with him. From this I did 
not fail to conclude that the draught caught 
in the net of this successful fisherman was very 
considerable. 

I thought : Now at last I have found the 
right man for this work ! ” I was very glad 
of it. Very glad indeed. I will tell you frankly 
—from quite an official point of view—because, 
gentlemen, a bishop is also a man, and he becomes 
wearied, when one authority tells him, Baptize,’’ 
and another says Let it alone.” A plague 
on them all, I thought. It is best to settle it in 
one way or the other, and as I have come across 
a skilful baptizer, let him baptize the whole lot 
of them together ; perhaps people will be quieter 
then. 

But Kiriak did not share my opinion ; and one 
evening when I was crossing the yard from the 
bath-house we met ; he stopped and greeted me : 

‘‘ Good evening, Vladyko.” 






On the Edge of the World 


247 


“ Good evening, Father Kiriak,” I answered. 

“ Have you had a good wash ? ’’ 

“ Yes, Fve had a good wash.” 

“ Have you washed away the Zyryan ? ” 

I grew angry. 

‘‘ What is this nonsense ? ” I said. 

But he again began to talk about the Zyryan. 

He is pitiless,” he said. ‘‘ He is now bap¬ 
tizing here as he baptized in the Transbaikal. 
Those he baptizes are only tormented by it and 
they complain of Christ. It is a sin for all, and 
for you more than for any, Vladyko.” 

I considered Kiriak rude, but nevertheless his 
words entered my soul. What could it be ? He 
was a sagacious old man—he would not chatter 
to the empty air. What was the secret of all 
this ? How did this adroit Zyryan taken by me 
au proka ” really baptize. I knew something 
about the religiosity of the Zyryans. They are 
especially known as temple builders—their churches, 
w^herever they are found, are fine and even rich, 
but of all the sects in this world that call them¬ 
selves Christians, one must confess they are the 
most superficial. To none, so well as to them 
can the definition be applied : “ God is only in 
their icons, but not in their souls.” But surely 
this Zyryan did not burn the savages to make 
them become Christians. That could not be. 








248 On the Edge of the World 

What was at the bottom of this business ? Wliy 
did this Zyryan’ have success and the Russians 
have none ? And why did I know nothing about 
it ? 

Then the thought came to me : ‘‘ It is because 
you, Vladyko, and those like you are egoistic and 
pretentious. You collect much money, and only 
go about, within the sound of the church bells. 
You think nothing about the distant parts of your 
diocese, and only judge of them by hearsay. 
You complain of your impotence in your own 
country, while all the time you are trying to 
snatch at the stars and are asking : ‘ What will 

you give me, and I will deliver Him unto you ? ’ 
Take care, brother, that you do not become like 
that too.” 

That evening I paced up and down my dull 
and empty room thinking, and I walked about 
until this thought came into my head : Why 
should I myself not travel through the desert ? 

In this manner I hoped to be able to elucidate 
myself, if not all, at any rate, very much ; and 
I must confess to you, I also wanted freshening 
up a little. 

To accomplish such a journey, owing to my 
own inexperience, I required a companion, who 
would know the native language well ; and what 
better companion could I wish for than Kiriak ? 





On the Edge of the World 249 

Being impatient, I did not delay long, but sent at 
once for Kiriak, informed him of my plan, and 
ordered him to get ready. 

He did not gainsay me ; on the contrary, he 
seemed to be very pleased and smiling, kept on 
repeating : 

May God help ! May God help ! ” 

There was no reason to delay our departure, 
so already the next morning after having assisted 
at very early matins, we dressed ourselves like 
the natives, and set out, taking the road straight 
to the North, where my Zyryan was carrying on 
his apostolic mission. 






VI 


T he first day we drove rapidly along in a 
good troika. I conversed all the time 
with Father Kiriak. The dear old man 
related to me interesting stories of the native 
religious traditions. The story that interested 
me most was about the five hundred travellers 
who, under the guidance of an Obushy,” which 
means in their language a book-man,” started 
to journey in the world at the time when the god 
Shigemuny having conquered all the demoniac 
powers and repulsed all weakness,” feasted in 
Shirvas on viands such as had never been touched 
before.” This legend is specially interesting be¬ 
cause it shows the whole form and spirit of the 
religious imagination of this people. Five hundred 
travellers conducted by the Obushy met a spirit, 
who, in order to frighten them, appeared in the 
most terrible and disgusting forms, and asked 
them : Have you ever seen such monsters ? ” 

“ We have more dreadful ones,” answered the 
Obushv. Who are they ? ” “ All who are en- 

vious, greedy, lying, and revengful ; after death 
they become monsters, much more terrible and 

250 









On the Edge of the World 


251 


disgusting than these.” The spirit hid himself 
and changed into such a lean and gaunt man 
that the veins stuck to his bones, and then appeared 
again to the travellers and said : ‘‘ Have you 

such people ? ” ‘‘ Of course,” answered the 

Obushy, there are even much thinner people 
than you are—they are all those who aspire to 
honours.” 

H’m ! ” I interrupted Kiriak, take care ; 
does the moral not refer to us bishops ” 

‘‘ God knows, Vladyko,” and he continued : 

After some time the spirit appeared in the form 
of a handsome youth and said : “ Have you such 
as these ? ” Of course,” answered the Obushy. 
‘‘ Among men there are some incomparably hand¬ 
somer than you—they are those who possess 
keen understanding and having purified their 
hearts, revere the three beatitudes : God, Faith 
and Holiness. These are so much more hand¬ 
some than you are, that you would not even 
be found worthy to be compared with them.” 
The spirit was enraged at this and began to test 
the Obushy in another way. He scooped up a 
handful of water. ‘‘ Where is there more water,” 
he asked, in the sea or in my hand ? ” There 
is more in your hand,” answered the Obushy. 

Prove it.” ‘‘ Well, I will prove it. If you judge 
by appearance, there certainly seems to be more 








252 On the Edge of the World 

water in tlie sea than in your hand, but when the 
time comes for the world to be destroyed, and out 
of the present sun another emerges discharging 
fire, then it will dry up all the waters in the world, 
both the large and the small ones, and the seas, 
and the rivers, and the streams, and even Atlas 
will crumble away, but whoever in his lifetime 
has given the thirsty to drink from his hand, or 
whoever has washed the wounds of the beggars with 
his hand, even seven suns will not dry up his 
handful of water, but on the contrary they will 
multiply and increase it.” 

‘‘ Well, gentlemen, what do you truly think 
of this It is not so very stupid ? ” asked the 
narrator, pausing for a moment. Eh ? No, 
really, what do you think of it ” 

‘‘ It is not at all stupid, Vladyko, not at all 
stupid.” 

I must own, to me too, it seems more in¬ 
telligent than many a lengthy sermon about 
justification. Well, it was not only of this we 
talked. After that we had long discussions about 
the best method to convert the heathen to Christian¬ 
ity. Kiriak was of the opinion that for them it was 
best to have the least possible amount of ceremony, 
because otherwise they would even surpass Kirika 
himself with questions like, Can one administer 
the Communion to one who taps his teeth with 





On the Edge of the World 


253 


an egg ? ” One must also not dogmatize too 
much, he said, because their weak understanding 
grows weary of following any abstraction or 
syllogism, but one must simply tell them about the 
life and miracles of Christ, so that it should appear 
to them in the most lifelike manner, and in a way 
that their poor imagination could grasp. But 
the most important, and on this he continued 
to insist, is that ‘‘ he who is wise and skilful must 
show them goodness by his life ; then they will 
understand Christ ’’ ; otherwise, he said, our 
work would go badly, and our true faith, although 
we may proclaim it among them, will remain 
inferior to their own untrue faith. Ours will be 
nominal, the other active. What good is there 
in it, Vladyko ? Judge for yourself : Will this 
be for the triumph of the Christian faith or for 
its degradation ? It will be still more bitter if 
they take something from us, and who knows what 
they may make of it ? There is no use hastening 
to proclaim it, we must sow ; others will come 
and water it, and God Himself wdll make it grow. 
. ... Is it not in this way, Vladyko, that the 
Apostle teaches ? Eh ? Remember Him ; it 
must be thus. Otherwise, if we hasten, see that 
we do not make people laugh, and cause Satan to 
rejoice.” 

I must confess in my soul I agreed with him. 









254 


On the Edge of the World 


on many questions, and in these simple and peace¬ 
ful conversations, I did not notice how the whole 
day passed away ; the evening brought us to the 
end of our journey with horses. 

We passed the night near the fire in a nomad 
tent, and the next morning started in reindeer 
sledges. 

The weather was beautiful, and the drive with 
reindeers interested me very much, though it 
did not come up to my expectations. In my 
childhood I often liked to look at a picture repre¬ 
senting a Laplander in a reindeer sledge. But the 
reindeers in the picture were slight, light-limbed 
creatures that flew along like the wind of the 
desert, throwing back their heads and branching 
antlers, and I always thought : ‘‘ Could I but drive 
like that, if only once. How delightfully rapid 
that pace must be.” However, in reality it was 
quite different. I had before me not those flying 
antlered whirlwinds, but shaggy, heavy limbed 
animals that plodded on with hanging heads and 
fleshy straddling legs. They ran at an uneven, un¬ 
certain pace with bent heads and such heavy 
breathing that anyone not used to seeing themi 
would have been sorry for them, especially when 
their nostrils became frozen and they opened their 
mouths wide. They breathed so heavily that 
their breath formed clouds and hung like a streak 








On the Edge of the World 


255 


in the frozen air. This means of travel and the 
desolate monotonous country that revealed itself 
to us, made such a tedious wearisome impression 
that one did not even feel inclined to talk, and 
Kiriak and I hardly conversed at all, during the 
two days we travelled in reindeer sledges. 

On the evening of the third day this mode of 
travelling ceased ; the snow became less compact, 
and we exchanged the unwieldy reindeer for 
dogs. They were gay, shaggy, and sharp-eared 
dogs, that looked like wolves, and even yelped 
almost like wolves. They are harnessed in great 
numbers, as many as fifteen to the sledge, and 
for an honoured traveller perhaps even more are 
attached, but the sledges are so narrow that two 
cannot sit abreast, so that Father Kiriak and I 
were obliged to separate. I and a driver had to 
go in one sledge, and Kiriak with another driver 
in another. The drivers seemed to be much the 
same in skill, and their countenances were so much 
alike, you could not distinguish one from the other, 
especially when they were wrapped up in their rein¬ 
deer fur coats that looked like soap-suds : both were 
equally beautiful. But Kiriak discovered a differ¬ 
ence in them and insisted upon seating me in 
the sledge of the one he considered most trust¬ 
worthy, but wherein he discovered this trust¬ 
worthiness he did not explain. 









256 On the Edge of the World 

It is so, Vladyko,” he said ; you are less 
experienced than I am in this country, so go with 
this man.” But I would not listen to him, and 
sat down in the other sledge. Our baggage we 
divided. I took a bundle of linen and books 
'at my feet, and Kiriak hung the chrismatory and 
the pyx round his neck and placed at his feet 
a wallet with oatmeal, dried fish and the remainder 
of our modest provisions for this campaign. 

We settled ourselves in the sledges, well wrapped 
up in reindeer fur coats, with reindeer skin-covers 
fastened over our legs, and recommenced our 
journey. 

We proceeded much faster than with the rein¬ 
deer, but it was so uncomfortable to sit in the 
sledge, that before an hour had passed my back 
began to ache terribly. I looked at Kiriak— 
he sat as straight as a post that had been stuck 
into the sledge, while I swayed from side to side— 
I always wanted to keep the balance, and owing 
to these gymnastics, I was even unable to speak 
to my driver. I only found out that he had been 
baptized and baptized quite recently by my 
Zyryan, but I had not time to examine him. 
By evening I was so exhausted that I was unable 
to bear it any longer and complained to Kiriak : 

‘‘ I’m feeling bad ; from the very beginning 
something seemed to shake me.” 









257 


On the Edge of the World 

That’s because you did not listen to me— 
you would not go with the driver 1 wanted you 
to go with. This one drives better, much quieter. 
Please change sledges to-morrow.” 

“ Very well,” I said, “ Fll do as you wish,” 
and the next day I got into the other sledge and 
we set out again. 

I do not know if, during the previous day, I 
had become accustomed to sitting on this sort 
of peasant’s sledge, or if it was really that this 
driver managed his long stick better, but it was 
much more comfortable, and I was even able 
to converse with him. 

I asked him if he was baptized or not. 

‘‘ No, Bachka,* me no baptized, me happy ! ” 
In what way are you happy ? ” 

Happy, Bachka ; Dzol-Dzayagachy have give 
me Bachka. She take care me.” 

Dzol-Dzayagachy is a goddess of the Shamanists, 
who gives children, and who looks after the happi¬ 
ness and the health of those children who have 
been born, thanks to prayers addressed to her. 

‘‘ That’s all very well,” I said, ‘‘ but why don’t 
you get baptized.” 

‘‘ She would not allow me to be baptized, 
Bachka.” 

♦Bachka is the savages’ corruption of Batyushka (reverend father 
used in addressing priests. 

K 







258 


On the Edge of the World 


‘‘ Who ? Dzol-Dzayagachy ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, Bachka, she won’t allow.” 

‘‘ Ah 1 It is well that you told me this.” 

'' Of course, Bachka, it is well.” 

Yes, but just for that, in spite of your Dzol- 
Dzayagachy, I will order you to be baptized. 

What do you mean, Bachka ? Why anger 
Dzol-Dzayagachy ? She will be enraged—she will 
beat me ! ” 

What do I care for her, your Dzol-Dzayagachy ? 
You shall be baptized—that is enough.” 

No, Bachka, she won’t allow me to be 

wTonged.” 

How can that wrong you, you stupid fellow ? ” 
“ Why, Bachka, you baptize me ? It do me 
much wrong, Bachka. Zaysan comes ; he beat me 
because baptized. Shaman comes, again beat. 
Lama comes—also beat and drive away reindeer. 
Bachka, great wrong to me.” 

“ They won’t dare to do it.” 

How, Bachka, they won’t dare ? They dare 
Bachka, they take all, they- ruined my uncle, 
Bachka. . . . Yes, Bachka, they ruined my brother 
Bachka, ruined . . . .” 

‘‘ Have you a brother, who has been baptized ? ” 
Of course, Bachka, I have a brother, Bachka. 
I have one.” 

And he has been baptized ? ” 





On the Edge of the World 


259 


Yes, Bachka, twice baptized.” 

What do you mean ? Twice baptized ? As 
if one is baptized twice ? ” 

Indeed, Bachka, they baptized twice.” 

‘‘ You lie.” 

‘‘ No, Bachka, it’s true. He was baptized 
once for himself, and once for me.” 

How for you ? What nonsense you are talking.” 
“ What nonsense, Bachka ? No nonsense. I 
hid myself from priest, Bachka, and he baptized 
my brother instead of me.” 

Why did you cheat in that way ? ” 

Because, Bachka, he is kind.” 

Who is kind ? Is your brother hind ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, Bachka, my brother. He said : ‘ It’s 
all the same, I am lost—baptized ; hide—I will 
be baptized again ’—so I hid.” 

Where is your brother now ? ” 

“ He is gone to be baptized again.” 

Where is this idle fellow off to now ? ” 

There, Bachka, where one hears a hard priest 
is travelling.” 

Ho, ho ! What has he got to do with this 
priest ? ” 

Our people are there, Bachka, our people live 
there, indeed good people, Bachka. He is sorry. 
Bachka .... sorry for them, Bachka—he has 
hurried to be baptized for them.” 







26 o 


On the Edge of the World 


‘‘ What sort of a ‘ Shaytan ’ is this brother of 
yours ? How dare he do such a thing ? 

“ Why not, Bachka, it’s nothing ; for him it’s 
all the same, Bachka, but for them, Bachka, the 
Zaysan won’t beat them, and the lamas won’t 

drive their reindeer away.” 

H’m ! Still, I must keep an eye on your 

idle brother. Tell me his name ? ” 

‘‘ Kuz’ka-Demyak, Bachka.” 

Kuz’ma or Demyan ? ”* 

No, Bachka, Kuz’ka-Demyak.” 

Yes, it’s easier for you—Kuz’ka-Demyak, 
or a copper pyatakf—but they are two names.” 

“ No, Bachka, one.” 

I tell you they are two.” 

“ No, Bachka, one.” 

Get along, you evidently know this better 
than me, too.” 

Of course, Bachka, I know it better.” 

Did they give him the names of Kuz’ma and 
Demyan at the first or second baptism ? ” 

He looked fixedly at me but did not understand ; 
but when I repeated my question he thought and 
answered : 

“ That is so, Bachka ; when he had been bap- 


*In the orthodox church only one name is given at baptism. 
fPyatak ; a copper five copeck piece. A popular jingle. 








On the Edge of the World 


261 


tized for me, then they began to mock him as 
Kyz’ka-Demyak.” 

And after his first baptism, how did they mock 
him ? ” 

I don’t know, Bachka—I have forgot.” 

“ But possibly he knows it.” 

No, Bachka, he has also forgot it.” 

It is impossible,” I said. 

No, Bachka—it’s true he has forgot it.” 

Well, I will have him found and will ask him.” 

You may have him found, Bachka, you may 
have him found ; but he will say he has forgot it.” 

Yes, but when I find him, brother, I will give 
him up to the Zaysan.” 

It doesn’t matter, Bachka, nothing matters 
to him now, Bachka—he is already lost.” 

‘‘ In what way is he lost ? Is it because he has 
been baptized ? Is it that ? ” 

Yes, Bachka ; the Shaman drives him away, 
the Lama has carried off his reindeer, none of his 
people trust him.” 

What do you mean, you foolish savage ? You 
lie. Why can’t the baptized be trusted ? Is the 
baptized man worse than you idolaters ? ” 

Why worse, Bachka ?—he’s also a man.” 

Now you yourself agree he is not worse.” 

I don’t know, Bachka—you say he is not 
worse, and I say so ; but he can’t be trusted.” 








262 


On the Edge of the World 


‘‘ Why can’t he be trusted ? ” 

Because the priest forgives him his sins, 
Bachka.” 

Well, and what is there wrong in that ? What, 
is it better to remain without forgiveness ? ” 

‘‘ How can one remain without forgiveness, 
Bachka ? That’s impossible, Bachka, one must 
ask forgiveness.” 

“ Well, then, I don’t understand you ; what are 
you talking about ? ” 

This is what I say, Bachka : a baptized man 
will steal, and tell the priest, and the priest, Bachka, 
will forgive him ; and therefore people won’t trust 
him, Bachka.” 

‘‘ What nonsense you are talking ! And this, of 
course, you think is not right.” 

‘‘ This, we think, doesn’t do for us, Bachka.” 

‘‘ How ought it to be to your thinking ? ” 

In this way, Bachka, if you have stolen from 
anybody, take the thing back to him, and ask for 
forgiveness ; if the man forgives, God forgives too.” 

Yes, but the priest is a man also, why can’t 
he forgive ? ” 

‘‘ Why should he not forgive, Bachka ? The 
priest can also forgive. If he had stolen from the 
priest, Bachka, the priest can forgive.” 

But if he had stolen from another, then he 
can’t forgive ? ” 







On the Edge of the World 


263 


How can he, Bachka ? He can’t, Bachka : 
it will be untrue, Bachka, the faithless man, 
Bachka, will go everywhere.” 

So, so, you unwashed booby, I thought to 
myself, what fine arguments you have built 
up for yourself ! and I continued to question 
him. 

‘‘ And have you heard anything about our Lord 
Jesus Christ ? ” 

‘‘ Certainly, Bachka—I have heard.” 

What have you heard about Him ? ” 

He walked on the water, Bachka.” 

“ H’m. Very well. He walked on the water ; and 
what else ? ” 

He drowned the swine in the sea, Bachka.” 

And more than that ? ” 

Nothing, Bachka. He was kind and com¬ 
passionate, Bachka.” 

Well, how was He compassionate ? What did 
He do ? ” 

He spat in the blind man’s eyes, Bachka—and 
the blind man saw ; He fed the people with bread 
and fishes.” 

I see, brother, you know much.” 

Certainly, Bachka, I know much.” 

Who told you all this ? ” 

People, Bachka, the poeple told me.” 

Your people ? ” 





264 


On the Edge of the World 


‘‘ The people ? Of course, Bachka—our people, 
our people.” 

‘‘ And from whom have they heard it ? ” 

‘‘ I don’t know, Bachka.” 

‘‘ Well, and don’t you know why Christ came 
here upon earth ? ” 

He thought a long time, but did not answer. 

‘‘ Don’t you know ? ” I asked. 

I don’t know.” 

I told him all about the Orthodox faith, and I was 
not sure if he listened or not ; all the time he was 
whooping at the dogs or brandishing his long stick. 

‘‘ Well, have you understood what I have been 
telling you ? ” I asked. 

Of course, Bachka, I’ve understood : He 
drowned the swine in the sea, he spat in the blind 
man’s eyes—the blind man saw again ; He gave 
bread and fishes to the people.” 

Thev had stuck in his head : these swine in the 
sea, the blind man, and the fishes, and nothing 
more could penetrate there. ... I remembered 
Kiriak’s words, about their poor understanding, 
and how they themselves did not notice how they 
touched the hem of His garment. What then ? 
This one too had possibly touched the hem, but 
certainly only just touched it—hardly touched it— 
only felt it with the tip of his finger : how could he 
be taught to catch hold of it more firmly ? So I 







On the Edge of the World 265 

tried to converse with him in the most simple 
manner about the blessings of Christ’s example 
and the object of His sufferings ; but my listener 
continued imperturbably to brandish his long stick 
in the same way. It was difficult to deceive myself. 
I saw that he did not understand anything. 

You have understood nothing ? ” I asked. 

‘‘ Nothing, Bachka—you making lies of truth ; 
I am sorrv for Him. He was good, the little 
Christ.” 

Good ? ” 

‘‘ He was good, Bachka, He must not be 
wronged.” 

‘‘ You ought to love Him ? ” 

“ How could one not love Him, Bachka ? ” 
What ? You could love Him ? ” 

How could I not, Bachka—I always loved 
Him, Bachka.” 

That’s right, my good lad.” 

Thank you, Bachka.” 

Now it only remains for you to be baptized. 
He will save you, too.” 

The savage was silent. 

What is it, friend ? ” I said. Why are you 
silent ? ” 

No, Bachka.” 

What do you mean by ‘ No, Bachka.’ ” 

He won’t save me, Bachka ; for Him the 






266 


On the Edge of the World 


Zavsan beats, the Shaman beats, the Lama drives 
away reindeer.” 

So that’s the chief misfortune ! ” 

“ Yes, Bachka.” 

You must bear the misfortune for Christ s 
sake.” 

Why, Bachka—He is compassionate, Bachka. 
When I die, He Himself will be sorry for me. Why 
should we wrong Him ? ” 

I wanted to tell him, that if he believed Christ 
would have compassion on him, he ought also 
to believe that He could save him too—but re¬ 
frained so as not to hear again about the Zaysan 
and the Lama. It was evident that for this man 
Christ was one of his kind deities, perhaps even 
his kindest, but not one of the strong ones ; kind, 
but not strong—not protective. He would not 
defend him from the Zaysan, nor from the Lama. 
What was to be done in this case ? How was I to 
persuade the savage of this when on Christ’s 
side there was no one to support Him, and on the 
other side there was much defence. A Roman 
Catholic priest, in the same circumstances, would 
have used cunning, as they had used cunning 
in China ; he would have placed a small cross at 
the feet of Buddha and he would have bowed 
down before it assimilating Christ and Buddha, 
and he would have been proud of his success ; 







On the Edge of the World 


267 


and another innovation would have explained 
such a Christ, that nothing would remain to 
believe in—only think of Him becomingly 
and—you will be good. But even that was 
difficult in this case : how was my fine fellow 
to commence thinking, when all his thinking 
powers were frozen into a lump, and he could not 
thaw them again. 

I remembered how Karl von Eckartshausen 
with the simplest comparisons was able admirably 
to convey to simple people the greatness of Christ’s 
sacrifice in coming to earth, by making the com¬ 
parison of a free man who, through his love for 
criminal prisoners, went to dwell with them in 
prison so as to share their sinful nature. Very 
simple and good ; but my hearer, thanks to 
circumstances, knew no greater villains than those 
from whom he was running away to prevent them 
from baptizing him ; he knew no other place, 
that might have produced on him greater horror, 
to compare with the terrible place he always in¬ 
habited. . . . Nothing could be done for him— 
either with Massillon or Bourdalone, or Eckarts¬ 
hausen. There he was poking his stick into the 
snow or cracking it—his face like a lump of soap¬ 
suds—there was no expression in his peep-holes 
(it would be a shame to call them eyes) ; there 
was not a spark of the soul’s fire ; even the sound 








268 


On the Edge of the World 


of the words that issued from his throat seemed 
somehow dead : in grief or in joy there was always 
the same intonation—slow and passionless—half 
the words were swallowed in his gullet, half were 
squeezed by his teeth. How was he with these 
means to seek for abstract truths, and what could 
he do with them ? They would be a burden to 
him : he must only die out with his whole race 
as the Aztecs have died, or the Red Indians are 
dying.—A terrible law ! What happiness that he 
does not know it.—He only knows how to thrust 
his stick into the snow—first he sticks it in on 
the right side then he sticks it in on the left side ; 
he does not know where he is driving me, why 
he is driving me, or why, like a child with a 
simple heart, he is unfolding to me, for his own 
harm, his most sacred secrets. . . . His whole 
talent is small, and it is a blessing for him that 
little will be asked of him. He was being carried 
on into the boundless distance, flourishing his 
long stick, which waving before my eyes, began 
to have the effect of a pendulum on me. These 
regular flourishes, like the passes of a mesmerist, 
caught me in their somnolent meshes ; drowsiness 
crept over my brain and I fell asleep quietly and 
sweetly—I fell asleep only to awaken in a position, 
in which, God forbid, any living soul should find 
himself. 






VII 

I SLEPT soundly and probably long,but suddenly 
it seemed that something jostled me and I 
found myself sitting up bent on one side. 
Still half asleep, I wanted to right myself, but 
noticed that something shoved me back. There 
was howling all around—what had happened ? 
I wanted to see, but I had nothing to see with, 
for my eyes would not open. I called to my 
savage. 

Hi, you, friend ! Where are you ? ” 

He shouted into my very ear : 

‘‘ Wake up, Bachka, wake up quickly ! You’ll 
freeze.” 

What has happened ? I can’t open my eyes.” 
Directly, Bachka, you’ll open them.” 

And with these words—what do you think he 
did ? He spat in my eyes and then rubbed them 
with the sleeve of his reindeer coat. 

What are you about ? ” 

Rubbing your eyes, Bachka.” 

Get along, you fool . . . .” 

'' No, wait a moment, Bachka—I’m not a fool. 

You’ll soon see again.” 

269 






270 


On the Edge of the World 


It was quite true, when he rubbed my face 
with his fur coat sleeve, my frozen eyelashes 
thawed and my eyelids opened. But on what ? 
What was to be seen ? I do not know if it can be 
even more terrible in hell : all around there was pro¬ 
found impenetrable darkness—and it seemed alive, 
it trembled and cracked like a monster whose 
body was a compact mass of frozen dust and whose 
breath was life-destroying cold. Yes, it was death 
in one of its most awful shapes, and meeting it 
face to face, I was terrified. 

The only thing I was able to say was to ask 
about Kiriak, Where was he ? But it was so 
difficult to speak that the savage did not hear me. 
Then I noticed that when he spoke to me, he bent 
down and shouted under the lappets of my fur 
cap, straight into my ear, and I also shouted 
under his fur cap : 

‘‘ Where is the other sledge ? ” 

Don’t know, Bachka, we have been separ¬ 
ated.” 

How separated ? ” 

Separated, Bachka.” 

I did not want to believe this ; I wanted to look 
round, but I could not see anything in any direc¬ 
tion ; all around us was hell, dark and terrible. 
Under my side and close to the sledge something 
moved like a ball, but it was impossible to see 






271 


On the Edge of the World 

what it was. I asked the savage what it could be, 
and he answered : 

The dogs, Bachka, have lost their way and 
are trying to warm themselves.” 

Shortly after he made a movement in the dark¬ 
ness and said : 

Fall down, Bachka.” 

Fall down where ? ” 

‘‘ Here, Bachka—fall into the snow.” 

Wait,” I said. 

I could not yet believe that I had lost my Kiriak, 
and wanted to stand up in the sledge and call to 
him, but at the same moment I felt smothered, 
as if I had been choked with all this frozen dust, 
and I fell down into the snow, giving my head a 
somewhat severe blow on the edge of the sledge. 
I had no strength to rise again, and even if I had 
had the strength, my savage would not have 
allowed me to do so. He held me fast and said : 

‘‘ Lie still, Bachka, lie quiet ; you will not die. 
The snow will cover us up, it will be warm. Other¬ 
wise you will perish. Lie still.” 

There was nothing else to be done. I had to 
obey him, and he pulled the reindeer skins off 
the sledge, threw them over me, and then crawled 
under them too. 

Now, Bachka, it’ll be nice.” 

But this nice ” was so nasty, that I instantly 







272 On the Edge of the World 

had to turn away as far as possible from my neigh¬ 
bour, because his presence at a short distance 
was unbearable. The corpse of Lazarus, that had 
lain four days in the grave of Bethany, could not 
have stunk more than this live man did. It was 
worse than the stench of a corpse ; it was a mixture 
of the fetid smell of the reindeer skins, the strong 
odour of human sweat, smoke, damp rottenness, 
dried fish, fish fat and dirt. . . . ^^ O, God,” 
I cried, what a miserable man am I ! How loath¬ 
some this brother, created after Thine image, is 
to me.” Oh, how gladly would I have escaped 
from this stinking grave, in which he had placed 
me next to himself ; if I had only had strength 
and power to stand in this hellish drifting chaos ! 
But nothing resembling such a possibility could 
be expected—and I had to submit. 

My savage noticed that I had turned away, and 
said : 

Stop, Bachka, you have turned your snout the 
wrong way—put your snout here—we will blow 
together—it will soon get warmer.” 

Even to hear this seemed terrible. 

I pretended not to hear him, but suddenly he 
hopped on to me, like a bug, rolled over me, lay 
down with his nose touching mine, and began to 
breathe into my face with terrible sniffs and stench. 
He blew extraordinarily loud, like a blacksmith’s 





On the Edge of the World 


273 


bellows. I could not bear it, and tried to make 
him stop. 

Breathe in a quieter way,” I said. 

‘‘ Why It does not matter, Bachka, Pm 
not tired ; I can warm your snout, Bachka.” 

Of course his having said snout ” did not 
offend me, because I had no ambition at that 
moment, and I repeat that for the expression of 
useless niceties such as making a distinction 
between an animal’s snout and a man’s face, no 
separate words existed in their language. Every¬ 
thing was snout ; he himself had a snout, his wife 
had a snout, his reindeer had a snout, his god 
Shigemony had a snout. Why should a bishop 
not have a snout too ? My grace could put up 
with this easily, but the difficulty was to endure 
his breath, the stink of dried fish, and some other 
disgusting odour—probably the stench of his 
own stomach—I could not stand it. 

“ It’s enough,” I said. “ Stop, you have warmed 
me ; now, don’t blow any more.” 

No, Bachka, we must blow, it will be warmer.” 

‘‘ No, please don’t ; you’ve bored me enough 
with it—I don’t want it.” 

Well, Bachka, if you don’t want it, we needn’t. 
Now we can go to sleep.” 

‘‘ Go to sleep.” 

‘‘ And you, Bachka, go to sleep.” 







274 


On the Edge of the World 


A second after lie had said this, like a well- 
trained horse, that at once starts at a gallop, he 
instantly fell asleep, and began to snore. Yes, 
how the rascal snored ! I must confess to you, 
that from my childhood I have been a great enemiy 
of all Vv^ho snore in their sleep, and if even one 
snoring man is in the room I am a martyr, and 
it is impossible for me to get to sleep. As we had 
many snorers in the seminary and the academy, 
I often could not help listening to them attentively, 
and I am not joking when I tell you that I worked 
out a theory about snoring. By his snores, I 
assure you, I can judge of a man’s character and 
temperament as well as you can by his voice, 
or his walk. I assure you, it is so ; a passionate 
man snores passionately just as if even in his sleep 
he was in a rage. I had a comrade in the academy 
who was gay and a dandy, so he snored in a dandi¬ 
fied way.—so gaily, with a sort of whistle, just 
as if he were going to the cathedral of his own 
town for the first time in a new gown. It often 
happened that they came from the other dormitories 
to listen to him and admire his art. But now my 
savage neighbour started such music as I had never 
heard before, nor had I ever observed or heard 
such an extensive diapason, nor such rapid time ; 
it was just as if a large swarm of bees w^as humming 
and knocking gently on the sides of a dry, re- 





On the Edge of the World 


275 


sonant, bee-hive. Beautifully, gravely, rhythmi¬ 
cally, and in time thus : ou-ou-ou-ou—bum-bum- 
bum, ou-ou-ou-ou—bum, bum-bum. According to 
my observations, I could have concluded that 
this was produced by a punctual and reliable 
man, but unfortunately I could make no observa¬ 
tions : that brigand quite overpowered me with 
his noise. I suffered, I suffered long, —at last could 
bear it no more, and poked him in the ribs. 

Don’t snore,” I said. 

Why, Bachka ? Why shouldn’t I snore ? ” 

‘‘ You snore horribly, you don’t let me sleep.” 

You ought to snore too.” 

‘‘ I don’t know how to snore.” 

And I know how to, Bachka,” and he in¬ 
stantly started droning at full speed. 

What could you do with such an artist ? How 
could you argue with such a man, who in every 
way was your superior ; he knew more about 
baptism than I did, and how many times one could 
be baptized, he was learned in names, and knew 
how to snore, and I did not know how to—in 
everything he had the advantage—he must be 
given all due honour and precedence. 

I drew back from him as far as I could, and 
a little to the side, and with difficulty getting my 
hand under my cassock, pressed my repeater ; 
the watch struck only three and three-quarters. 










276 On the Edge of the World 

That meant it was still day ; the blizzard, would, 
of course, last the whole night, perhaps even 
longer. . . . Siberian blizzards are of long dura¬ 
tion. You can imagine what it was to have all 
this before one. In the meantime my position 
became more and more terrible ; we had certainly 
been well covered up with snow, and in our lair 
it was, not only warm, but stuffy ; but, on the 
other hand, the horrible sickening exhalations 
became more dense—my breath was taken away 
by this suffocating stench, and it was a pity it 
had not finished me quite, because I would then 
not have experienced a hundredth part of those 
sufferings which I felt, when I remembered that 
with Father Kiriak not only my bottle with brandy 
and water, but all our provisions had been lost. 
I clearly saw that if I was not suffocated here as 
in the Black Hole, I was certainly threatened with 
the most terrible, the most painful of all deaths 
—the death from starvation and thirst, which 
had already begun its torments on me. Oh, 
how I regretted that I had not remained above 
to freeze, but had crawled into this snowv coffin, 
where we two were lying so close together and 
under such a weight, that all my efforts to raise 
myself and get up were quite useless. 

With the greatest trouble I was able to get 
from under my shoulder some small pieces of 





On the Edge of the World 


277 


snow, and greedily swallowed them, one after the 
other, but—alas 1 this did not alleviate my suffer¬ 
ings at all—on the contrary, it only aroused in 
me nausea and an unbearable burning in the 
throat and stomach, and especially near the heart ; 
my head was ready to split : I had ringing in the 
ears and my eyes burnt, and stood out of their 
sockets. While all the time the tiresome swarm 
of bees hummed louder and louder, and knocked 
more sonorously on the sides of the hive. This 
horrible condition lasted until my repeater struck 
seven—after which I don’t remember anything 
more, as I lost consciousness. 

This was the greatest good luck, that could 
have befallen me in this disastrous position. I do 
not know if I rested physically during that time, 
but in any case I did not suffer from the thoughts 
of what I had before me, the horrors of which 
must in reality greatly exceed all the representa¬ 
tions that an alarmed fantasy could conjure up. 






VIII 


W HEN I regained consciousness, the swarm 
of bees had flown away, and I found my¬ 
self at the bottom of a deep hole 
under the snow ; I was lying at the very bottom 
of it with outstretched arms and legs, and I felt 
nothing; neither cold, nor hunger, nor thirst. 
No, nothing at all. Only my head was so confused 
and dull that it caused me some trouble to recall 
to my memory all that had happened to me, and 
in what position I then was. But of course all 
this became clear at last, and the first thought 
that entered my mind at the time was that my 
savage had woken up before me, and had run off 
alone, leaving me to my fate. 

Indeed, looking at it from an impartial point 
of view, he should have done so, especially after my 
threats of yesterday to have him baptized, and to 
have search made for his brother Kuz’ma-Demyan ; 
but he in his heathen manner acted differently. 
I had scarcely moved my stiffened limbs and sat 
up on the bottom of my hollowed grave, when 
I saw him about thirty paces from me. He was 

278 






On the Edge of the World 


279 


standing under a large rime-covered tree, and 
was making strange movements, and above him 
on a long branch a dog was hanging, from whose 
ripped up belly the still warm intestines were 
hanging out. 

I understood that he was making a sacrifice, 
or, as they say, performing a mystery, and to 
speak the truth, I was not sorry that this sacrifice 
had detained him until I was awake, and could 
prevent him from abandoning me. For I was 
firmly persuaded that the heathen must certainly 
have the unchristian intention of doing so, and 
I envied Father Kiriak, who was now, though 
suffering the same misfortunes, at least in the 
company of a Christian, who would doubtless be 
more reliable than my heathen. It may have been 
caused by my own difficult position, that a sus¬ 
picion was born in me that perhaps Father Kiriak, 
who was able to foresee, better than I could, all 
the accidents of Siberian travel, had, under the 
guise of benevolence, cunningly managed to pass 
on to me the heathen, while he took the Christian 
for himself. Of course this was not at all like 
Father Kiriak, and even now, when it recurs to 
my memory, I feel ashamed of these suspicions ; but 
what was I to do when they crossed my mind ? 

I crawled out of the snow heap and began to 
approach my savage ; he heard the snow creak 






280 On the Edge of the World 

under my feet, and turned round, but at once 
resumed the performance of his mysteries. 

‘‘ Well, have you not bowed enough ? ” I said, 
after standing beside him for about a minute. 

‘‘ Enough, Bachka ”—and returning at once 
to the sledge, he began to reharness the remain¬ 
ing dogs. When they were harnessed we started. 

To whom were you making that sacrifice ? ” 
I asked him, pointing back. 

‘‘ I don’t know, Bachka.” 

But you sacrificed the dog to some one ?— 
to God or to the devil ?—to Shaytan ? ” 

“ To Shaytan, Bachka, of course, to Shaytan.” 
‘‘ Why did you make him this gift ? ” 

‘‘ Because he did not freeze us, Bachka ; it 
was for that I gave him the dog for him grub.” 

H’m ! yes, for him grub—he won’t burst, but 
I’m sorry for the dog.” 

Why, Bachka, why are you sorry ? The 
dog was a bad one, it would soon have died ; 
it does not matter—let him have it—let him 
grub ? ” 

So that’s how you reckon ? You gave him 
a dog that was half dead.” 

‘‘ Of course, Bachka.” 

Please tell me, where are you driving now ? ” 

Don’t know, Bachka, we’re looking for the 
track.” 









On the Edge of the World 


281 


But where is my priest—my companion ? ” 
Don’t know, Bachka.” 

‘‘ How are we to find him ? ” 

“ Don’t know, Bachka.” 

Perhaps he has been frozen.” 

‘‘ Why should he be frozen ? There’s snow, 
he won’t freeze.” 

I remembered that Kiriak had the bottle with 
warming drink, and the basket of provisions, and 
was reassured. I had nothing of the sort with 
me, and now I would gladly have eaten even 
the dogs’ dried fish ; but I was afraid to ask 
for it, because I was not sure if we had any. 

All day long we seemed to be going round and 
round at random ; I saw it, if not by the passion¬ 
less face of my driver, by the restless, irregular 
and troubled movements of his dogs, which seemed 
to be jumping about, fidgeting, and always throw¬ 
ing themselves from side to side. My savage had 
much trouble with them, but his unchanging pas¬ 
sionless indifference did not desert him for a 
moment ; he only seemed to work with his long 
stick with greater attention, without which on 
this day w^e should have been thrown out at least 
a hundred times, and left either in the middle of the 
wilderness or else by the w^oods which we were 
constantly skirting. 

Suddenly one of the dogs stuck its muzzle 






282 


On the Edge of the World 


into the snow, twitched with its hind legs, and 
fell. My savage knew better than I did what 
this meant, and what new misfortune was threat¬ 
ening us, but he neither showed alarm nor agita¬ 
tion ; now as always he planted his stick into 
the snow with a firm, steady hand, and gave me 
this anchor of safety to hold, while he quickly 
sprang out of the sledge, extracted the exhausted 
dog from its harness, and dragged it to the back 
of the sledge. I thought he was going to dispatch 
it and throw it away, but when I looked back 
I saw that this dog was also suspended from a 
tree with its body ripped open and its bloody 
intestines hanging out. It was a horrible sight. 

What’s this again ? ” I shouted to him. 

“ It’s for Shaytan, Bachka.” 

Come, brother, that’s enough for your Shay¬ 
tan. It’s too much for him to eat two dogs a day.” 

Never mind, Bachka, let him grub.” 

‘‘ No, it’s not ‘ never mind,’ ” I said. “ But 
if you go on killing them at this rate, you will 
soon have killed them all for Shaytan.” 

Bachka, I only give him those that die.” 

‘‘ You had better feed them.” 

There’s no food, Bachka.” 

‘‘ So ! ” This only proved what I had feared. 

The short day was already sinking into evening, 
and it was evident that the remaining dogs were 










On the Edge of the World 


283 


quite exhausted ; their strength was gone, and 
from time to time they began to gasp wildly and 
to sit down. Suddenly another fell, while all 
the rest, as if by agreement, sat down on their 
haunches and began to howl, as if they were 
celebrating a requiem for it. 

My savage arose, and was about to hang up the 
third dog for Shaytan, but this time I strictly 
forbade it. I was so tired of seeing the ceremony, 
and this abomination seemed only to increase the 
horror of our situation. 

‘‘ Stop ! ” I said, don’t touch it ; let it die 
a natural death.” 

He did not dispute it, but with his usual im¬ 
perturbable calmness, did the most unexpected 
thing. He silently stuck his long stick into the 
snow in front of our sledge, and began to unharness 
the dogs one after the other, and let them go free. 
The hungry animals seemed to forget their weari¬ 
ness ; they whined, began to yelp and suddenly 
rushed olf in a pack in the same direction, and 
in a moment they were lost to sight in the wood 
beyond the distant fallow land. All this happened 
so quickly that it reminded me of the story of 

Il’ia Murometz ” : “ All saw Il’ia mount his 

horse, but none saw him ride away.” Our motive 
power had left us ; we would have to walk. Of 
the ten dogs which so lately had been strong and 








284 


On the Edge of the World 


healthy, only one remained with us, and it lay 
at our feet in its harness dying. 

My savage stood by with the same apathy, 
resting on his stick, and looking at his feet. 

‘‘ Why did you do that ? ” I cried. 

I’ve let them go, Bachka.” 

‘‘ I see you have ; but will they come back ? ” 

‘‘ No, Bachka, they won’t ; they’ll become wild.” 

Why did you let them loose ? ” 

“ They want to grub, Bachka, let them catch 
an animal—they’ll grub.” 

But what shall we grub ? ” 

‘‘ Nothing, Bachka.” 

‘‘ Ah ! you monster ! ” 

He evidently did not understand, and did not 
answer, but stuck his stick into the snow, and 
went away. Nobody would have guessed why 
he went away from me. I shouted after him, 
called him back, but he only gazed at me with his 
dull eyes and growled, Hold your tongue, 
Bachka,” and went further. He also soon dis¬ 
appeared in the skirts of the forest, and I remained 
quite alone. 

Is it necessary for me to dwell on the terrible 
position in which I found myself, or perhaps you 
will better understand all its horrors, when I 
tell you I could think of nothing but that I was 
hungry, that I wanted to eat not in the human 






On the Edge of the World 


285 


sense of the wish for food, but to devour as a 
famished wolf would devour its prey. I took 
my w^atch out of my pocket, pressed the spring, 
and was staggered by a new surprise : my watch 
had stopped—a thing that had never happened 
before. With trembling hands I tried to wind 
it up, and convinced myself it had stopped only 
because it had run down ; it could go for nearly 
two days. This proved to me that when we passed 
the night under the snow, we had lain for more than 
twenty-four hours in our icy grave ! How long 
had it been ? Perhaps twenty-four hours, per¬ 
haps thrice that time. I no longer was surprised 
that I was suffering so acutely from hunger. This 
proved that at the very least I had not eaten for 
three days, and when I realized it I felt the tor¬ 
ments of hunger all the sharper. 

If I could only eat—eat anything ! a dirty, a 
nasty thing—only eat something ! That was all 
I could understand, as I cast my eyes in unbear¬ 
able suffering despairingly around me. 







IX 


W E were on a flat elevation, behind us 
lay an enormous limitless waste, before 
us its endless continuation, to the 
right a hollow filled with snow-drifts bounded by 
rising ground, while beyond, at a great distance, 
the blue line of the forest, into which our dogs had 
disappeared, showed dimly on the horizon. To 
the left stretched the skirts of another wood, 
along which we had driven until our team had 
been dispersed, and we ourselves were standing 
at the foot of a huge snowdrift, that had been 
blown over a small hillock covered with tall pines 
and firs, that seemed to reach to the sky. Sitting 
on the edge of the sledge, exhausted by hunger 
and numb with cold, I could not pay any attention 
to what was around me, nor did I notice when my 
savage appeared beside me. I neither saw how 
he approached, nor how he silently seated himself 
near me, and now at last when I noticed him he 
was sitting, with his long stick across his knees, 
and his hands hidden in the breast of his fur coat. 
Not a feature of his face had changed, not a muscle 
had moved, and his eyes had no expression beyond 
a dull calm submission. 


286 










On the Edge of the World 


287 


I looked at him, but did not speak to him, and he 
as was his wont, never spoke first ; this time he 
remained silent too. We understood each other, 
and we sat thus, side by side, through the endless 
dark night without exchanging a single word. 

But as soon as the grey dawn began to show 
itself in the sky, the savage silently rose from 
the sledge, stuck his hands deeper into the bosom 
of his fur coat, and again began to wander about, 
and, constantly stopping, he would examine the 
trees long, very long, and then walk on At last 
he disappeared from my sight, and then in the same 
quick passionless way returned, and at once 
dived under the sledge and began to arrange or 
to disarrange something. 

What are you doing there ? ” I asked—and 
in speaking made the unpleasant discovery that 
my voice had become weak and had even quite 
changed its tone, while my savage spoke now as 
before, biting oh his words jerkily. 

Getting my snow-shoes, Bachka.” 

Snow-shoes ! ” I cried in horror, and it was 
now that I understood for the first time the mean¬ 
ing of sharpening one’s snow-shoes.”* Why 
are you getting your snow-shoes ? ” 

I shall run away at once.” 

Ah, you villain ! ” I thought. Where are 
you going ? ” 

*A popular expression meaning: to take to one’s heels. 







288 


On the Edge of the World 


‘‘ I shall run to the right, Bachka.” 

‘‘ Why will you run that way ? ” 

‘‘ To bring you grub.’’ 

‘‘ You lie ! ” I said. “ You want to desert 
me.” 

But without the slightest confusion he answered : 

No, I shall bring you grub.” 

‘‘ Where will you find grub ? ” 

‘‘ Don’t know, Bachka.” 

You don’t know then where you are run¬ 
ning ? ” 

To the right.” 

“ Who is there to the right ? ” 

‘‘ Don’t know, Bachka.” 

If you don’t know, why are you running 
away ? ” 

‘‘ Have found a sign—there’s a tent.” 

“ You lie, my dear fellow,” I said. ‘‘ You want 
to leave me here alone.” 

‘‘ No, I will bring grub.” 

Well, go, only it’s better not to lie, go where 
vou like.” 

‘‘ Why lie, Bachka, not good lie.” 

“ It’s not at all good, brother, but you are 
lying.” 

‘‘ No, Bachka, I don’t lie ; come with me. I 
show you sign.” 

He caught up the snow-shoes, and his stick, and 







On the Edge of the World 289 

dragging them after him, took me by the hand, 
led me up to a certain tree, and asked : 

“ Bachka, do you see ? ” 

What is there to see ? ” I answered. I see 
a tree and nothing more.” 

But there on the large branch, twig on twig, 
do you see ? ” 

Well, and what of that ? There is a twig, and 
probably the wind blew it there.” 

No wind, Bachka ; it’s not wind, but kind 
man put it there—on that side there’s a tent.” 

It w^as very evident he was either deceiving me, 
or was himself deceived, but what w^as I to do ? 
I could not keep him by force from going and 
what would be the use of preventing him ? Was 
it not all the same to die from starvation and cold 
—alone, or for two to die together ? Let him 
run away and save himself if he could do so, and 
I said to him as the monks do : Save thyself, 

brother.” 

He answered quietly : Thank you, Bachka,” 

and with these words fixed his snow-shoes firmly 
on his feet took his stick over his shoulder, scraped 
first with one foot and then with the other, and 
ran away. In a minute he was lost to sight, and 
I remained quite alone in the midst of snow and 
frost, and now quite exhausted by the acute 
cravings of hunger. 




L 







X 


I PASSED the short Siberian day strolling about, 
near the sledge, now sitting down on it, then 
again rising, when the cold overcame the 
unbearable tortures of hunger. Of course, I only 
walked slowly, as I had not much strength left, and 
also because one sooner gets tired from rapid 
motion, and then one feels the cold more. 

Wandering about near the spot where my savage 
had deserted me, several times I approached 
the tree on which he had pointed out the broken 
twig. I examined it carefully and was the more 
convinced that it was only a twig that had been 
torn from another tree, and blown there by the 
wind. 

“ He has cheated me,” I said to myself. “ He 
has cheated me, and it can’t be counted as a sin. 
Why should he perish with me when it could 
do me no good.” 

Need I tell you how hard and terribly long the 
short winter day appeared to me ? I did not 
believe in any possibility of salvation, and awaited 
death, but where was it ? Why did it delay ? 

290 









On the Edge of the World 


291 


And when would it come ? What tortures would 
I have to endure before it caressed me and soothed 
my sufferings ? . . Soon I began to observe 

that from time to time my sight failed me. Sud¬ 
denly all the objects before me seemed to flow 
together and disappear into a kind of grey dark¬ 
ness, then suddenly and unexpectedly they would 
become clear again. ... I thought this was caused 
simply by fatigue, but I do not know what part 
the changes of the light played in it ; whenever 
the light changed slightly, things became visible 
again, and even very distinctly visible, and I 
could see very far and then again they became 
misty. The sun that showed itself for an hour 
behind the distant hillocks shed a wonderful pink 
light on the snow, that covered these mounds ; 
this occurs before evening, then the sun suddenly 
disappears and the rose-coloured light changes 
to an exquisite blue. It was so now : everything 
near and around me turned blue, as if sprinkled 
with sapphire dust, wherever there was a rut, 
or the mark of a footstep, or even where a stick, 
had been stuck into the snow, a bluish mist curled in 
clouds, and after a short time this play of light 
was also extinguished : the wilderness, as if 
covered with an overturned bowl, became dark 
and then .... grew grey. With this last change, 
when the wonderful blue colour disappeared, and 






292 


On the Edge of the World 


momentary gloom spread over everything, the 
marvellous tricks of the wilderness began to show 
themselves, before my tired eyes, in the grey 
darkness. Every object assumed extraordinary 
and huge proportions and outlines : our little 
sledge looked like the hull of a ship, the frost 
covered carcass of the dead dog looked like a 
sleeping white bear j while the trees appeared to 
have come to life and w^ere moving about from 
place to place. . . . All this was so life-like and 
interesting, that notwithstanding my sad position, 

I would have been ready to examine it with curiosity 
if a strange occurrence had not frightened me 
away from my observations and awakened in me 
a new fear, arousing at the same time the instinct 
of self-preservation. I saw, in the twilight, some¬ 
thing flitting in the distance, like a dark arrow, 
then another, and a third, and immediately after 
the air was filled with a long doleful howl. 

In an instant I understood that it must be 
either wolves or our liberated dogs, who had 
probably found nothing to eat, not being able to 
catch any animal, and, quite exhausted by hunger, 
had remembered their dead friend, and wanted to 
profit by his body. In any case, if they were either 
famished dogs or wolves, they were not likely to 
give any quarter to my v/orshipful self, and although 
reason told me it would be better to be torn to 










On the Edge of the World 293 

pieces in a moment, than to have to suffer the 
long agonies of hunger, the instinct of self- 
preservation took the upper hand and notwith¬ 
standing my heavy clothes, I w^as able to climb 
to the very top of the tree, with the agility and 
quickness of a squirrel, that, I must confess, I 
did not know I possessed, nor had ever dreamed 
of, and only stopped when I could go no higher. 
Below" me an immensity of snow was spread out, 
and above me a dark skv like thin scum, on which 
out of the distant impenetrable gloom, the rayless 
stars shone with a reddish light. While I was 
casting my eyes around, down below, almost 
at the roots of my tree, a fierce fight took place. 
There were groans and howls, tearing and struggling, 
once more groans, and then silent fiittings through 
the darkness in different dircetions, and again all 
was quiet, as if nothing had occurred. Such 
undisturbed silence succeeded that I could hear 
the beatings of the pulses in my body and my 
breathing appeared to make a noise like the rustling 
of hay, and when I breathed heavily, it was like 
an electric spark, that quietly crackled in the 
unbearably rarefied frosty air ; it was so dry 
and cold, that even the hairs of my beard were 
frozen, and pricked like wire and broke to the 
touch. I even now feel a chill go through me 
at the remembrance, which my frost-bitten legs 











294 


On the Edge of the World 


help to keep alive ever since that time. It may 
have been a little warmer below, perhaps not, 
but in any case I was not sure, that the attack 
of the beasts of prey would not be repeated, and 
decided not to descend from the tree till morning. 
It was not more terrible than to be buried under 
the snow with my malodorous companion, and 
on the whole what could be more terrible than 
my present position ? I just chose a widely 
spreading bough and sank down on it as in a fairly 
comfortable arm chair, in such a way that even 
if I had dozed, I should not have fallen off ; but 
for greater security I put my arms firmly round a 
branch, and then stuck them deeper into the 
pockets of my fur coat. The position was well 
chosen and well constructed. I sat there like a 
frozen old owl, which I probably resembled in 
reality. My watch had long since stopped, but 
from my position I had an admirable view of 
Orion and the Pleiades—those heavenly clocks, 
by which I could now' calculate the hours of my 
torture. I occupied myself with this ; at first 
I calculated the exact time, and then I looked 
long, very long at these strange stars shining on 
a black sky, until they grew fainter, changed from 
gold to copper, and at last became quite dim and 
were extinguished. 

The morning approached, equally grey and 







On the Edge of the World 


295 


joyless. My watch, that I had set by the position 
of the Pleiades, showed it was nine o’clock. My 
hunger increased and tormented me past all belief. 
I no longer felt the oppressive scent of viands, 
nor the recollection of the taste of tood. I only 
had a hungry pain. My empty stomach was 
dried up, twisted like a cord, and caused me the 
most unbearable sufferings. 

Without any hope of finding something eatable, 
I climbed down the tree and began to wander about. 
At one place I picked up from the snow a fir cone. 
I thought at first it might be a cedar cone, and 
would contain nuts, but it proved to be a simple 
fir cone. I broke it, found a seed, which I 
swallowed, but the resinous smell was so un¬ 
pleasant that my empty stomach refused to receive 
it, and my pains were only increased. At this time 
I noticed that all round our abandoned sledge 
there were numberless fresh tracks going in all 
directions, and that our dead dog had disappeared. 

My corpse would evidently be the next to go, 
and the same wolves would prey on it and divide 
it among themselves in the same way. But 
when would it be .? Was it possible in another 
day ? It might even be more. No ! I remem¬ 
bered one fanatical faster, who starved himself 
for the honour of Christ. He had the courage 
to note the days of his anguish and counted nine. 






296 On the Edge of the World 

. . . How terrible ! But he fasted in the warmth, 
while I was exposed to the bitterest cold of 
course that must make a difference. My strength 
had quite deserted me—I could no longer warm 
myself by motion, and sat down on the edge of the 
sledge. Even the consciousness of my fate seemed 
to abandon me. On my eyelids I felt the shadow 
of death, and w^as only troubled it was so long 
in leading me away to the path from which there 
was no returning. You must understand how 
earnestly I wished to depart from this frozen 
wilderness to the house of reunion of all mortals, 
and in no way regretted, that I would have to 
make my bed here in this frozen darkness. The 
chain of my thoughts was severed, the pitcher 
was broken, and the wheel had fallen into the 
well. Neither in my thoughts nor in the most 
ordinary form of words could 1 turn towards 
heaven. I was unable to draw comfort in any 
way, in any form. I realized this and sighed. 

Our Father ! I cannot offer Thee, even penance 
for my sins, but Thou Thyself hast removed my 
light from its place. Thou wilt answer for me 
before Thyself. 

This was the only prayer I was able to summon 
to my mind, after that I can remember nothing, 
nor how that day passed away. I can but affirm 
with certainty, it was the same as the previous one. 











On the Edge of the World 


297 


It only appeared to me, I saw during that day, 
somewhere far away from me, two living creatures, 
and they looked like some sort of birds ; they 
seemed to be of the size of magpies and in appear¬ 
ance they resembled magpies, but with dirty rough 
feathers like owls. Just before sunset they flew 
down from the trees, walked about on the snow, 
and flew away again. But perhaps I only imagined 
this in my hallucinations before death ; in any case 
it appeared to me so vividly, that I followed their 
flight with my eyes, and saw them disappear in the 
distance as if they had melted away. My tired 
eyes having reached this point, rested there and 
became fixed. But what do you think ? Sud¬ 
denly I began to notice in this direction a strange 
spot, that I think had not been there before. Then 
it seemed to move—though the movement was so 
imperceptible that it could only be distinguished 
by the inner sense rather than by the eyes, yet I 
was certain that it moved. 

The hope of being saved stirred within me, and 
all my sufferings were not able to silence or stifle it. 
The spot continued to grow, and became more 
distinct, and was more clearly visible on that won¬ 
derful faintly pink background. Was it a mirage ? 
—which was so likely in this desolate place, in such 
capricious light—or was it really something alive 
that was hurrying towards me ? In any case it 








298 


On the Edge of the World 


was flying straight towards me, and it was really 
not walking but flying. At last I saw its outlines ; 

I could distinguish its figure ; I could see its legs 
I saw how they stretched out one after the other 
. . . and immediately after I fell rapidly from joy 
into despair. Yes : this was no mirage—I saw it 
too clearly—but it w^as also no man, nor was it a 
wild beast. On the whole earth there was no 
creature made of flesh and blood, that resembled 
this enchanted, fantastic apparition, approaching 
towards me as if it were condensing, forming, or, as 
our modern spiritualists say—materializing out of 
the playful tints of the frozen air. Either my sight 
and my imagination were deceiving me, or could 
it be a spirit ? What spirit ? Who are you ? 

Can it be Father Kiriak, hastening to meet me 
from the Kingdom of the dead ? . . . But perhaps 
we were both already there ... is it possible I 
have already finished crossing the bar. . . . How 
wonderful ! How curious this spirit is, it is my 
co-inhabitant in this new life. I will describe him 
to you as well as I can : a gigantic winged figure 
floated towards me, clad from head to heels in a 
chiton of silver brocade, which sparkled all over ; 
on its head it had a head-dress that seemed to be 
seven feet high and glittered as if it were covered 
all over with diamonds, or, more precisely, as if it 
were a whole diamond mitre. ... It was like a 







On the Edge of the World 299 

richly ornamented Indian idol, and to complete 
this resemblance with an idol and its fantastic 
appearance, from under the feet of my wonderful 
visitor sparks of silver dust spurted out on all sides, 
and he seemed to float upon them as on a light 
cloud, looking at the very least like the legendary 
Hermes. 

While I was examining him he—this wonderful 
spirit—came nearer and nearer and at last was 
quite close to me, a moment more and he had 
covered me with snow dust, stuck his fairy wand 
into the snow and exclaimed : 

How do you do, Bachka ? ” 

I could not believe either my eyes or my ears : 
this wonderful spirit was, of course, my savage. 
Now it was no longer possible to make a mistake : 
the same snow-shoes were under his feet, on which 
he had run away—on his back he had others ; 
before me, stuck in the snow, was his long staff, 
and in his arms there was a whole bear’s ham, fur 
and all, with its paw and claws. But in what was 
he clad—how was he transfigured ? 

Without waiting for any reply to his greeting, he 
thrust this bear’s meat into my face and roared : 

Grub, Bachka,” and he himself sat down on 
the snow and began to take off his snow-shoes. 






XI 


I FELL upon the bear’s ham and began gnawing 
and sucking the raw flesh, trying to appease 
my torturing hunger, and at the same time 
looked at my deliverer. 

What had he on his head that looked the whole 
time like a wonderful sparkling ornament—I was 
unable to make out what it was and asked him. 
What have you on your head ? ” 

>‘‘That is because you did not give me any 
money,” he answered. 

I must admit I did not quite understand what he 
wanted to say, but continuing to look at him more 
attentively I discovered that his high diamond 
head gear was nothing more nor less than his own 
long hair. His hair was filled through and through 
with snowflakes, and had been blown about while 
he ran so that it had streamed out on all sides like 
wisps and become frozen. 

Where is your fur cap ? ” 

“ Thrown it away.” 

‘‘ Why ? ” 

‘‘ Because you gave me no money.” 

300 











On the Edge of the World 


301 


Well/’ I said, I forgot to give you money ; 
that was wrong of me, but what a cruel man that 
master must be, who would not trust you, and took 
away your cap in this frost.” 

‘‘ Nobody took away my cap.” 

What happened then.” 

“ I myself threw it down.” 

He told me that he had walked all day following 
the signs and had at last come to a hut ; in the hut 
the carcass of a bear was lying, but the master was 
not there. 

Well ? ” 

‘‘ I thought it would be long for you to wait, 
Bachka ; you’d die.” 

‘‘ Well ? ” 

I cut off the bear’s leg and ran back again, but 
I left him my cap.” 

Why ? ” 

‘‘ That he should not think badly, Bachka.” 

‘‘ But this master does not know you.” 

This one does not know me, Bachka, but the 
Other knows me.” 

What other ? ” 

That Master, Who looks from above.” 

Hm ! Who looks from above ? ” 

“ Yes, Bachka, of course. He sees everything, 

Bachka.” 

He sees all, brother. He sees all.” 





302 


On the Edge of the World 


Of course, Bachka, He does not like those who 
do wrong, Bachka.” 

The reasoning was very much the same as that 
used by Saint Sirin, when seduced by a temptress, 
who tried to entice him into her house, but he 
invited her to sin with him before all the people in 
the market place, and she said : We can’t there, 
the people will see us,” but he answered : I don’t 
pay much attention to the people, but what if God 
should see us ? It is better we separate ! ” 

Well, brother,” I thought, ‘‘ you, too, are not 
walking far from the heavenly kingdom.” During 
my short reflections he had fallen down in the snow. 

Good night, Bachka ; you grub. I want to 

And he began to snore in his own mighty fashion. 

It was already dark : again the black sky was 
stretched over us, and on it again like sparks on 
pitch the rayless stars appeared. 

By that time I began to revive, having swallowed 
a few small pieces of raw meat, and I stood with the 
bear’s ham in my hands, looking at the sleeping 
savage, and thinking : 

What an enigma is the journey of this pure, 
exalted soul in such a clumsy body, and in this 
terrible wilderness ? Why is he incarnated here 
and not in lands more blessed by nature ? Why is 
his understanding so limited that he is unable to 







On the Edge of the World 303 

have a broader and clearer conception of his 
Creator ? Why, O God, is he deprived of the 
possibility of thanking Thee for enlightening him 
with Thy Holy Gospel ? Why have not I the 
means in my hands to regenerate him with a new 
and solemn birth in Thy Son Christ ? All this 
must he in accordance with Thy Will; if in his 
miserable condition Thou wishest to enlighten 
him with some divine light from above, then, I 
believe, that this enlightenment of his mind will be 
Thy gift. O Lord, how am I to understand it : 
let me not displease Thee by what I do ; nor injure 
this Thy simple-hearted servant ? ” 

Lost in these reflections, I did not notice the 
brightness that suddenly flamed up in the sky and 
bathed us in an enchanted light ; again everything 
took on huge fantastic dimensions, and my sleeping 
savage appeared to me like a powerful enchanted 
fairy knight. I bent over him and began to 
examine him as if I had never seen him before, and 
what do you think ?—he appeared to be beautiful. 
I imagined that this was he in whose neck 
remained strength, he whose mortal foot never 
trod the path which no fowl knoweth, he before 
whom the horror fleeth,” which had reduced me 
to impotence, and had caught me as in a noose, 
in my own projects. His speech is poor—therefore 
he cannot console a sorrowful heart with his lips. 






304 


On the Edge of the World 


but liis words are as sparks from the beatings of 
his heart. How eloquent is his virtue, and who 
would consent to grieve him ? Certainly not I. 
No, as the Lord liveth. Who has grieved my soul 
for His sake, I will not do it. May my shoulder 
fall off from my back, and my arm break off from 
the elbow, if I lift it against this poor man, and 
against his poor race. Pardon me, holy Augustin, 
even before I differed from thee, and now also I 
do not agree with thee that '' even the virtues 
of the heathen are onlv hidden vices.” No, this 
saviour of my life acted from no other impulse 
than virtue, the most self-denying compassion, 
and magnanimity : he, not knowing the Apostle 
Peter’s words, “ took courage for me, his enemy, 
and committed his soul to works of charity.” 
He threw away his fur cap and ran a day and a 
night in that frozen head-gear, being moved, 
of course, not only by the natural feeling of sym¬ 
pathy for me, but having also “ religio,” prizing 
the reunion with that master Who looks from 
above.” What can I do for him now ? Am I 
to take from him this religion and destroy it, 
when I lack the means of giving him another and 
a sweeter one, as long as words confuse the 
reason of mortals,” and it is impossible to show 
him works that could captivate him. Is it possible 
that I will force him by fear, or seduce him with 








On the Edge of the World 


305 


the benefits of security. He will never be like 
Hamor and Sliechcm, who let themselves be 
circumcized for the sake of Jacob’s daughters 
and herds. Those who acquire faith for daughters 
and herds, acquire not faith, but only daughters 
and herds, and the offering from their hands 
will be for Thee like the blood of swine. But 
where are my means of educating, of enlight¬ 
ening him, when these means do not exist, 
and when it seems as if it had been decreed that 
they should not be in my hands No, my Kiriak, 
is right : a seal is here and the hand that is not 
liberated will not be able to break it, and I remem¬ 
bered the words of the prophet Habakkuk : 
‘‘ Though it tarry, wait for it, because it will surely 
come, it will not tarry.” Come, Christ, come 
Thyself into this pure heart ; come to this simple 
soul for as long as Thou tarriest none can force 
it. . . . Let these snow-covered clods of His 
valleys be dear to him, and when his day comes 
let him cease to exist, let him cast off his life as a 
vine sheds its ripe fruit, as a wild olive tree sheds 
its blossoms. ... It is not for me to put his feet 
in the stocks nor to track his footsteps, when 
He Who Is has written with His finger the law 
of love in his heart and has led him aside from 
evil paths. Our Father, show Thyself to him 
who loves Thee and does not tempt Thee, and 







3 o6 On the Edge of the World 

Thou shalt be praised for evermore as Thou hast 
always' been praised, and through Thy mercy 
permit me and him and every one to fulfil Thy 
will, each as he can. There is no more confusion 
in my heart : I believe that Thou hast revealed 
Thyself to him as much as he requires it, and 
he knows Thee as all know Thee. 

Largior hie campos aether et lumene vestit 

Purpureo, solemque suum, sua sidera norunt ! ” 
My memory recalled these words of Virgil—and 
bowing my head low beside my sleeping savage, 
I fell on my knees and blessed him, and covering 
his frozen head with the skirts of my cassock, I 
slept next to him, as I would have slept embracing 
the angel of the desert. 





XII 


S HALL I relate to you the end ? It was not 
less wonderful than the beginning. 

When we awoke the savage arranged 
the snow shoes he had brought under my feet, 
cut me a staff, placed it in my hands and taught 
me how to use it, then he bound a rope round 
me and taking the end in his hand drew me after 
him. 

You ask whither ? First of all, to pay our 
debt for the bear’s meat. We hoped to find dogs 
there and to proceed further. But we did not 
go where my inexperienced plans had at first 
attracted me. In the smoky hut of our creditor 
another lesson awaited me, which had a most 
important influence on all my subsequent activity. 
The fact is, that the master for whom my savage 
had left his fur cap, had not been out shooting 
at the time that my deliverer had got there, but 
had been rescuing my friend Kiriak, whom he 
had found in the midst of the desert, abandoned 
by his Christian driver. Yes, gentlemen, here 
in this hut, lying near a dim stinking fire, I found 

307 








3 o 8 On the Edge of the World _ 

my honest old monk, and in what a terrible heart¬ 
rending condition ! He had been quite frozen \ 
he had been smeared with something and he was 
still alive, but the terrible stench that reached me 
when I approached him, told me that the soul 
that guarded this abode was leaving it. I raised 
the reindeer skin with which he was covered, and 
was horrified : gangrene had removed all the flesh 
from the bones of his legs, but he could still see 
and speak. Recognizing me, he whispered : 

‘‘ Good day, Vladyko ! ” 

With indescribable horror I looked at him, and 
could find no words. 

I was waiting for you, and now you have come. 
Thank God ! You have seen the desert ! What 
do you think of it ? Never mind, you are alive, 
you have gained experience.” 

“ Forgive me. Father Kiriak, for having brought 

you here ” 

Enough, Vladyko ! Your coming here will 
be blessed. You have gained experience, and 
can live. Shrive me quickly 1 ” 

Very well,” I said, directly. Where have 
you placed the Holy Elements ? Were they not 
with you ? ” 

They were with me,” he announced, “ but I 
have them no more.” 

‘‘ Where are they ? ” 









On the Edge of the World 


309 


‘‘ The savage ate them.” 

What do you mean ? ” 

Yes, he ate them. . . . Well, what of it ? ” 
he said. He is an ignorant man. . . . His 
His mind is confused. ... I could not prevent 
him.” He said : ‘ I shall meet a priest—he will 
forgive me.’ What is the use of speaking—his 
mind was quite confused.” 

Surely he did not eat the Chrism ? ” 

He ate everything, even the sponge, and 
carried off the pyx and deserted me. . . . He 
believes that the priest will forgive him—what 
does it matter. His mind is confused. Let us 
forgive him, Vladyko—may Christ only forgive 
us. Promise me not to look for him—poor fellow 
—or, if you find him . . . .” 

To forgive him ” 

Yes, I ask it for Christ’s sake .... and 
when you come home, see that you say nothing 
about it to the little enemies, or perhaps the 
cunning people will wreak their zeal on the poor 
fellow. Please do not tell them ” 

I gave him my w^ord, and kneeling down near 
the dying man confessed him. At the same moment 
a gaily dressed sorceress rushed into the tent, 
which was now crowded with people, and began 
beating her tambourine ; others followed her 
example, playing on wooden pitch-pipes and on 








310 


On the Edge of the World 


another incomprehensible instrument of the type 
used in ancient times when the various tribes and 
races fell prone on their faces to the sound of 
pipes and other sorts of music before the idol of 
the Valley of Death—and a barbarous ceremony 
began. 

These prayers were for us, and for our deliver¬ 
ance, though it might perhaps have been better 
if they had prayed for their own deliverance 
from us ; and I, a bishop, had to be present at 
these supplications, while Father Kiriak was giving 
up his spirit to God, and was not exactly praying, 
nor exactly expostulating with Him like the prophet 
Jeremiah, or communing with Him like a true 
evangelical swine-herd, not in words but in in¬ 
articulate sighs : 

Have pity,” he whispered. Take me now 
as one of your hired labourers. The hour has 
arrived .... restore me to my former likeness and 
inheritence .... do not let me be a wicked 
devil in hell—drown my sins in Christ’s blood, 
send me to Him. ... I want to lie at His feet. 
Say ‘ So be it.’ ” 

He breathed heavily and continued : 

‘‘ O goodness—O simplicity—O love—O my 
joy ! Jesus .... I am running to Thee like 
Nicodemus through the night. . . . Turn towards 
me—open the door ... let me hear God moving 








On the Edge of the World 311 

and speaking. . . . Now Thy garment is already 
in my hands. . . . Thou mayest shatter my thigh 
. . . . but I will not release Thee .... before 
Thou dost bless everybody with me.” 

I love this Russian prayer, as in the twelfth 
century it poured from the lips of our Cyril 
Zlatoust* in Turov, and he bequeathed it to us. 
We must not only pray for ourselves, but for 
others, and not only for Christians but for the 
heathen, so that they too may be turned to God. 
My dear old Kiriak prayed in this way, he pleaded 
for all, and said : “ Bless all or I will not release 
Thee.” What can you do with such an old 
original ? 

With these words he stretched himself—as if 
he were clinging to Christ’s garments—and flew 
away. It appears to me that he is still grasping 
and clinging to Him as He ascends, and still begging : 

Bless all, or else I will not desist.” The in¬ 
solent old man will, perhaps, get his way ; and 
He, from goodness, will at the last not refuse him. 
All this we do, treating Christ in a homely way, 
in sancta simplicitate. Whether we understand 
Him, or not, of that you may argue as you like, 
but that we live with Him quite simply I think 
cannot be denied. And he loves simplicity greatly. 


♦The Golden-mouthed. 








XIII 


^ BURIED Kiriak under the clods of earth on 
I the banks of a frozen river, and here it was 
that I learned from the savages the abomin¬ 
able news that my successful Zyryan baptized 
I am ashamed to say it—simply by treating them 
to vodka. To my mind this whole business was 
a shameful one. I did not want to see this baptizer 
or hear anything more about him, but returned 
to the town firmly resolved to sit down in my 
monastery to my books, without which a monk, 
having idle thoughts, is utterly lost, and in the 
meantime I would quietly cut the hair of the 
ordinants, or settle the quarrels between the deacons 
and their wives. As for Holy Work, which, 
to be done in holiness cannot be done carelessly, 
it were better to leave it undone—so as not to 

offer foolishness to God. 

I acted thus, and returned to the monastery, 
wiser for the experience, and knowing that my 
much suffering missionaries were good men, and 
I thanked God that they were so, and not different. 

Now I saw clearly that good weakness is more 
pardonable than foolish zeal in a work where 

312 












On the Edge of the World 


313 


there are no means of applying intelligent zeal. 
That this is impossible was proved to me by a paper, 
I found waiting for me at the monastery, in which 
I was requested to take note ” that in Siberia 
besides the 580 Buddhist lamas, who were on 
the staffs of thirty four temples, a number of 
supernumerary lamas were permitted. What of 
that ? I was not a Kanyushkevich or an Arseni 
Matsievich—I was a bishop of the new school and 
did not want to sit in Reval with a gag in my 
mouth, as Arseni sat ; there was no profit in that. 
I ‘‘ took note ” of the information concerning the 
increase of the lamas, ordered my Zyryan to 
return from the desert as soon as possible, and 
conferring on him an epigonation—the spiritual 
sword—kept him in the town attached to the 
cathedral in the capacity of sacristan and super¬ 
visor of the re-gilding of the iconostasis, but I 
called my own lazy missionaries together and 
bowing down to their girdles said : 

Pardon me, fathers and brothers, that I did 
not understand your goodness.’’ 

They answered, God will forgive.” 

‘‘ I thank you for your graciousness ; be gracious 
from now always and everywhere, and the God of 
Mercy will prosper your works.” 

From that time, during the remainder of my 
prolonged stay in Siberia, I never troubled if the 









314 


On the Edge of the Wor ld 

quiet labours of my missionaries did not produce 
the spectacular results so well loved by the im¬ 
patient members of fashionable religious society. 
While there were no such sudden effects I felt 
assured that the water jars were being filled one 
after another, but when it chanced that one or 
other of my missionaries produced a large number 
of proselytes .... I must confess, I was troubled. 
.... I remembered my Zyryan, or the baptizer of 
the Guards Ushakov, or the Councillor Yartzev, 
who were still more successful because in their case 
as in the days of Vladimir, “ piety was allied 
to fear,” and even before the arrival of these 
missionaries the natives begged to be baptized. 
Yes, but what was the result of all their nimbleness 
and piety allied with fear ? The abomination 
of desolation was produced in the holy places, 
where these fleet baptizers had their fonts and 
.... all was confusion—in the mind, in the heart, 
in the understanding of the people, and I, a bad 
bishop, could do nothing for it, and a good bishop 
could not have done more before—before, so to 
speak, we begin seriously to occupy ourselves 
with faith, and not merely take pride in it for 
pleasure’s sake like Pharisees. That, gentlemen, 
is the position in which we Russian baptizers 
find ourselves ; not, as it may appear, because we 
do not understand Christ, but because we really 





On the Edge of the World 


315 


understand Him and do not want His name to be 
blasphemed by the heathen. So I lived on, not 
showing tyranny with the same readiness as before, 
but patiently, one may almost say, lazily, stumb¬ 
ling under the crosses sent down to me both by 
Christ and not by Christ, of which the most re¬ 
markable one was that I, who began to study 
Buddhism with zeal, was sedulously reported by 
my Zyryan to be myself secretly a Buddhist. 
And this reputation clung to me, although I did 
not restrain the zeal of my Zyryan and allowed 
him to act according to the w^ell tested and success¬ 
ful methods of Prince Andrei Bogolyubsky, which 
were thus proclaimed over his grave by his follower 
Kus’ma : “If a heathen comes, order him to be 
taken to the sacristy—let him look upon our true 
Christianity. And I allowed the Zyryan to take 
anybody he chose to the sacristy and display to 
them with care all that our people and he had 
collected there of “ true Christianity.” All this 
was good and fairly efficacious : they praised 
our “ true Christianity,” but no doubt my Zyryan 
found it was dull to baptize only two or three 
at a time—and it certainly w^as “ dull.” Here 
we have a real Russian expression. Yes, gentle¬ 
men, it was dull then to struggle against the 
self-satisfied ignorance that tolerated the Faith 
only as a political means. But now, perhaps. 






316 On the Edge of t he World 

it is even duller to struggle against the indifference 
of those who instead of enlightening others have 
as that same Matsievich very happily expresse 
it, themselves hardly any faith. Well, I sup 
pose, you clever modern men think , Oh . our 
diocesan bishops are bad 1 What do they do ? 
Our bishops do nothing 1 Now, I do not want 
to defend them all ; miany of us have certainly 
become very feeble ; they stumble under the 
crosses and fall; and not only do influential 
personages, but even some ‘‘ popa mitratus 
become authorities for them, and all this is of 
course, because of What will ye give me ? ” 
Well, supposing I were to ask you : What has 
brought them to this ? Is it not really because 
they, your diocesan bishops, have been converted 
into administrators and are unable to do anything 
vital now ? And mark : Perhaps you owe them 
much gratitude for doing nothing in these times. 
Otherwise they might have strapped with the 
official thong such an unbearable load on your back, 
that God knows, if your back bone would not have 
been shattered to splinters, or the thong have been 
torn in two ; but we are conservatives, and defend 
liberty as well as we can ; liberty, may Christ free 
us thereby from such co-operation. Gentlemen, 
that is why we act and co-operate weakly. Do 
not throw up at us the former hierarchies, such 










On the Edge of the World 


317 


as those of St. Guri and others. It is true St. 
Guri knew how to enlighten, but for that purpose 
he went into savage lands well armed with orders 
and powers to attract the people with caresses, 
with food, with defences from the authorities, 
with support against the Voevods and the judges ; ” 
he was obliged to take part in the councils of the 
government, but your bishop of to-day is not 
even allowed to take counsel with a neighbouring 
bishop about the business of his diocese ; in a 
word, he must think of nothing. There is some¬ 
body who thinks for him. All he has to do is to 
take note of ” what is ordered. What do you 
require of him, when now he can never act for 
himself ? Lord, Thy will be done . . . What 
can be done is somehow done by itself. This I 
saw towards the end of my stay in Siberia. One 
day a missionary came to me and said that he 
had come upon a camp of a nomad tribe at the 
spot where I had buried my old Kiriak, and there 
on the banks of the stream, he had baptized whole 
crowds in the name of Kiriak’s God, as formerly 
a man had been baptized in the name of Justinian’s 
God. Near the bones of the good old Monk 
the good people learned to love and understand 
God, who had created this pious soul, and they 
themselves wished to serve the God who had 
brought into existence such spiritual beauty. 














3 i 8 On the Edge of the World 

In consequence of this I ordered such a large 
solid oaken cross to be placed over Kiriak’s grave 
that even the Galician prince Vladimirko, who 
thought it unworthy to kiss small crosses, would 
not have been able to resist it; so we erected to 
Kiriak a cross that was twice the size of the Zyryan 
—and this was the last order I gave in my Siberian 

pastorate. 

I do not know who will cut down this cross 
or who has already cut it down whether it was the 
Buddhist lamas or the Russian officials besides, 
what does it matter ? 

Now my tale is finished. Judge us all from 
what you see—I will not try to justify myself, 
but I will only say this : My simple Kiriak cer¬ 
tainly understood Christ not less well than your 
foreign preachers, who jingle like a tinkling cymbal 
in your drawing-rooms and winter-gardens. Let 
them preach there surrounded by the wives of 
Lot, who, whatever words they may hear, will 
none of them go to Zoar, but, after shuffling about 
before God, while existence is dull for them, at 
the least change in their lives will look back at 
their Sodom and become columns of salt. This 
will be the only result of this drawing-room 
Christianity. What have we to do with these 
miracle workers ? They do not want to walk 
on the earth, but desire to fly in the sky, and having 




On the Edge of the World 


319 


but small wings and a large body like grasshoppers, 
they cannot fly far, nor can they pour the light of 
faith or the sweets of consolation into the fogs 
of our native land, where, from wooded dale to 
wooded dale, our Christ wanders, so blessed, 
so kind, and above all so patient, that He has 
taught even the worst of His servants to look 
submissively on the destruction of His work by 
those who ought to fear it most We have become 
used to submit to everything, because this is not 
the first snow to fall on our heads. There was a 
time when ‘‘ Our Book of Faith ” was hidden, 
and a hammer of German workmanship was placed 
in our hands ; they wanted to cut our hair, shave 
us and transform us into little abbes. One bene¬ 
factor, Golitzin, ordered us to preach his crazy 
divinity; another, Protasov, shook his finger 
under our very noses ; while a third, Chebyshev, 
excelled all the others and openly uttered corrupt 
words ” in the market place as well as in the Synod, 
affirming that there is no God, and to talk of Him 
is stupid. It is impossible to guess whom we 
shall meet next, and how some new cock or other 
may yet crow to us. The one consolation is that 
all these zealots of the Russian Church will not 
injure her, because theirs is an unequal struggle : 
the Church is indestructible like the apostolic 
edifice ; the spirit will pass from these singers, 







On the Edge of the World 


and their place shall know them no more But, 

wha. I think. esp.ci.Uy 

?h,t .ome of these highly placed »r h™^”> 
personages, as it is now the fashion to call them, 
r„ no, Mtie. ou, ntodesty. no, do they value 
it Verily, this is ingratitude; Aey have no 
right to reproach us with being_ patient and quiet. 

If we were more impatient, God nows, 
many would not be sorry for it more especia y 
those who do not consider work, nor ad 
man’s wounds, but having waxed fat, >^eason idly 
as to what they ought to begin to believe, in orde 
to have something to reason about. . 

reverence at least the holy , 

thodox Church, and understand that she has trul> 
maintained the spirit of Christ, if she suffers all 
that God wills her to stifEer. Truly her humility 
is worthy of praise ; and we must wonder at her 

vitality and bless God for it. 

We all involuntarily answered : 

‘‘ Amen.” 


the end. 











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